IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0  ^12^  m 

|22 


1.1 


US 

ja  1^   12.2 

lii    I 

:!f   us.   12.0 

u 


SdHices 
Ccffporation 


33  WBT  MAIN  STMIT 

WnSTIR,N.Y.  14SM 

(71«)S73-4S03 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Inttituta  for  Historical  iMicroraproductions  /  Instltut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Noiet/Notet  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  signif  ir;<ntly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checlced  below. 


D 


D 
D 


D 


0 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I     I   Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagte 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  pelliculAe 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  blacic)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I     I   Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Rell6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serria  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  IntArieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout^es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
male,  lorsque  cela  Atait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  §t^  filmtes. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  4t4  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sent  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibiiographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqute  ci-dessous. 


|~~1   Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagtes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurAes  et/ou  pellicultes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxet 
Pages  dAcolorAes,  tachetAes  ou  piquAes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ditachtes 

Showthroughy 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

QuaiitA  inhale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppMmentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  disponible 


r~~|  Pages  damaged/ 

r~n  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

r~^  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I     I  Pages  detached/ 

r~r]  Showthrough/ 

rn  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I     I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I — I  Only  edition  available/ 


D 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partieilement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  M4  filmtes  A  nouveau  de  fapon  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl4ment<iires: 


Pages  9  &  10  are  mining. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmA  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu*  ci-dessous. 


T 

8 

T 
v« 

N 

: 

b< 
rii 
re 
n\ 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

1 

1 

12X 

16X 

aox 

24X 

28X 

32X 

lira 

details 
ua*  du 
:  modifiar 
^•r  una 

filmaga 


Tha  copy  filmad  hara  has  baan  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

National  Library  off  Canada 


Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibllity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  ii-  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  opacifications. 


L'axampiaira  ffilmi  fut  raproduit  grAca  A  la 
g4nArosit6  da: 

Bibliothdque  nationala  du  Canada 


Los  imagas  suivantas  ont  At6  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattatA  da  I'axampiaire  film6,  et  an 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


tea 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illustratad  imprassion. 


Las  axamplairas  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  en 
papiar  ast  imprimAa  sont  filmte  an  commandant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  ampreinta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Tous  las  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmte  an  commandant  par  la 
pramiAra  paga  qui  comports  una  amprainte 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 


Tha  last  recordad  fframa  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
darnlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  ~-^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  V  signiffie  "FIN". 


re 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  ara  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  lefft  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  A  des  taux  de  rAduction  diff Arents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  ii  est  filmA  A  partir 
da  I'angia  supArieur  geuche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  an  has,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imagas  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrant  la  mAthode. 


f  errata 
dto 

It 

la  peiure, 

pon  A 


1  2  3 


ztx. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

"^^^AA^     lU^^UA-^Ac 


ONTWA, 


THF, 


SON  OF  THE  FOREST. 


A  POEM. 


"  II  parle  ninsi  au  bruit  de  I'onde,  et  au  nllieu  de  toute  In 
solitude."    Chaitauhriand. 


i? 


NEW-YORK : 

WILEY    AND    HALSTED, 

Oflice  of  the  Literary  and  Scientific  Repository. 


Mncccxxn. 


D— 


SOUTHERN  DISTRICT  OF  NEW-TORK,  9«. 

BE  IT  REMKMUEHEl),  That  on  the  twentieth  day  of  December, 

in   the  forlv-sixth  year  of  the  Independenre  of  the  Unitetl 

(L.  S.)  I^tates  of  Anierica,  WILEY  AND  HALSTED,  of  the  said 

District,  have  deposited  in  this  office  tlie  title  of  a  booli,  the 

right  whereof  they  claim  as  proprietors,  in  the  words  following,  to 

wit: 

"  Ontwa,  the  Son  of  the  Forest.  A  Poem.  '  II  parle  ainsi  au  bruit 
lie  I'onde,  et  au  milieu  detoute  la  solitude.'    Chateaubriand." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  enti- 
tled, "  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securinef  the  co- 
"  pies  of  Maps,  Cliarts.  and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of 
"such  copies,  during  the  time  therein  mentioned."  And  also  to  aiv 
Act,  entitled, "  An  Act,  supplementary  to  an  Act,  entitled,  an  Act  for  the 
"  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts, 
and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  uf  sucli  copies,  during  the 
times  therein  mentioned,  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts 
of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

JAMES  DILL, 
CUrk  of  tht  Southern  District  of  NewYork. 


PRINTBO  BT  J.  KINGSLANO  AND  CO.,  MAIDEN-LANE. 


. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  following  brief  extracts  contain  almost  the 
only  historical  traces  of  that  tribe  of  Indians,  whose 
catastrophe  suggested  the  principal  incidents  of 
Ontwa. 

"  About  this  time  (1653)  the  Iroquois  so  effectually  exter- 
minated a  nation  called  the  Eries,  that  no  traces  of  them 
now  remain  ;  nor  could  it  be  known  that  they  ever  had  ex- 
isted,  were  it  not  for  the  great  lake,  on  the  borders  of  which 
they  were  situated,  and  which,  for  that  reason,  still  bears 
their  name.  The  Iroquois,  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  were 
worsted ;  but  they  pursued  it  with  such  unrelenting  fury,  as 
to  effect  the  catastrophe  we  have  mentioned."— frynnc'« 
General  History  of  the  Brilisk  Empire  in  America,  Vol.  I. 
p.  334. 

«'  Ce  fit  k  peu  pr^s  dans  ce  tems  (1656)  que  les  Iroquois 
achevferent  de  d^truire  la  nation  des  Eriesi,  ou  du  Chat.  Les 
commencements  de  cette  guerre  ne  leur  avoient  pas  ^(A  fa- 
yorable;  mais  iis  ne  rebut^rent  point,  et  ils  prirent  k  la  fin 


\ 


IV 


ADVERTISKMENT. 


tcllement  Ic  dessus,  que  gans  le  grand  lac,  que  porte  encore 
aujourd'hui  Ic  noin  de  rette  nation,  on  ne  8i;auroit  pas  m^me 
qu'elle  eflt  exists." — Charlevoix,  Hiitoire  de  la  JVbureWe 
France,  Tom.  I.  p.  322. 

Both  these  accounts  leave  the  residence  of  this 
tribe  somewhat  indeterminate.  Charlevoix,  in  his 
maps,  places  it  on  the  south  side  of  Lake  Erie  ; 
other  old  French  maps  place  it  on  the  north  side, 
and  even  indicate  the  spot  where  the  fatal  battle 
was  fought.  The  latter  authority  has  been  adopted 
in  the  following  work — whether  correctly  or  not, 
it  is  presumed  to  be  of  little  consequence.  The 
apparent  anachronism  of  deciding  its  fate  by  one 
single  battle,  when  perhaps  a  series  of  actions 
were  fought,  may  probably  be  likewise  thought 
as  unimportant.  Such  a  supposition  better  sub- 
served the  purposes  of  poetry  ;  and  the  obscuri- 
ty of  history  seemed  to  admit  of  almost  any  lati- 
tude of  conjecture. 

At  the  period  here  alluded  to,  the  French  mis- 
sionaries commenced  their  bold  and  generous  pil- 
grimages among  the  remote  tribes  of  the  Ameri- 
can interior.     It  need  scarcely  be  remarked,  that 


^JK.Jji^J^'^A  '■-.mx:! 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


it  is  one  of  those  daring  philanthropists,  who  is 
represented  in  the  Introduction. 

With  respect  to  the  composition  of  Ontwa,  the 
same  remark  may  be  apphed  to  it  which  Chateau- 
briand  applies  to  Atala,  that  "it  was  written  in 
the  desert,  and  under  the  huts  of  the  savages." 
This  circumstance,  however,  can  give  it  no  cor- 
respondent merit  with  that  beautiful  and  pathetic 
little  work,  other  than  the  chance  of  being  equal- 
ly  faithful  in  the  description  of  aboriginal  manners 
and  scenes.     The  tradition  on  which  the  story  of 
Ontwa  is  founded,  unavoidably  led  to  an  apparent 
adoption  of  one  of  the  incidents  of  Atala.     With- 
out anticipating  a  charge  of  plagiarism,  it  may 
perhaps  be  confessed,  thpt    in  this  instance,  an 
attempt  was  made  to  imitate  its  eloquent  author. 


T 


KllRATA. 

Page  44, 1. 13— read  chnrmt  instead  of  "charm." 

1.  H — read  hnitnt  inKtead  of  "harm." 
Pafre  66,  notf — read  atlm  Inntead  uf  "  clear." 
Page  73, 1. 16— after  "  And"  dele  comma  (in  some  copies) 
to  read,  And  vanguuVd,  Lc, 


^ 


ONTWA. 

PART  I. 

1  iN  T  R  0  D  U  C  T  I  0  iN. 

PiLoniM  from  transatlnntic  climes, 
Of  elder  race  and  elder  times, 
Where  age  on  age  had  roll'd  around 
In  hemispheric  circle  bound, 
Unconscious  that  a  sister  sphere, 
Revolving  through  the  same  career 
And  glowing  'neath  the  same  bright  sun. 
Had  still  concurrent  ages  run, — 

I  launched  before  the  western  gales, 
(Dilating  now  a  thousand  sails,) 
Which,  ere  th'  immortal  Genoese 
Had  dared  to  span  unmeasured  seas 
In  search  of  worlds  his  mighty  mind 
Alone  conceived  the  hope  to  find. 
Had  idly  swept  a  rolling  waste 
That  pilot  keel  had  never  traced. 


is*isii:^«iitti-»«?**fc**w«*i- 


ONTWA. 

No  Jtrhrmc  Kiiblinio  like  his  wn«  mine — 
Thf;  hiilHiircd  globe  Hiirh  ^^rantl  dcHign 
KxcliideH  iiKiiin — and  \m  K>'('»t  niimc, 
That  (ills  the  younKor  world  with  tiinio. 
Must  still  imrivHlM  stand,  till  earth 
Shall  to  new  continent:*  give  birth. 


1  sought  no  undincoverM  shore 
Which  prow  had  never  touch'd  before  ; 
Nor  wishM  presumptuous  course  to  urge 
Beyond  De  (inmn's  daring  verge — 
Nor  yet,  like  Mngalhaen,  to  run 
Still  following  round  the  setting  sun. 
Till  my  bold  keel  should  leave  a  trace 
Folding  the  globe  in  its  embrace. 
No — Hwas  a  spirit  mild  and  meek. 
That  objects  less  sublime  would  seek  : 
1  sought  the  Indian  of  the  wild, 
Nature's  forlorn  and  roving  child — 
Already  driven,  from  shores  afar 
Where  once  he  bore  the  chase  and  war. 
To  Western  Lakes  :  those  seas  conlined, 
Which  ancient  deluge  left  behind  ' 

When  the  vast  floodgates  of  the  land, 
Unable  longer  to  withstand 
The  rolling  waste,  crumbled  away 
And  gave  the  sweeping  ruin  play — 


^ 


ONTWA. 


U 


^ 


l^eiiviriK  the  wide  interior  drninM 

Save  where  theHe  remnant  tlootU  rcmuinM. 


I  a^kM  the  red  man  for  my  k'''^'^  : 
He  lannchM  hiH  bark  on  KrieN  tide, — 
Through  all  the  hqiiid  chain  we  ran, 
O'er  Huron'ii  wave,  and  Michi*gan, 
Veering  amid  her  Unkcd  iHles 
Where  the  mechanic  beaver  toils, — * 
Still  floating  on,  in  cany  way 
Into  her  deep  indented  Bay,t 
Through  rocky  ixleH  whose  bolder  formn 
Are  chafed  and  fritter'd  down  by  stormn. 
And,  worn  to  nteeps  of  varying  Hhnpe 
That  architectural  orders  ape. 
Show  ruin'd  column,  arch  and  niche, 
And  walFs  dilapidated  breach  ; 
With  ivy  hanging  from  above, 
And  plants  below,  that  ruins  love, 


*  Now  called  the  Beaver  Islands — in  Lake  Mirhi-egnn, 
(ur  Ureal  Lake,)  a*  named  by  the  natives. 

t  Called  Ureen  Bay,  whoxe  month  in  almost  closed  by  a 
chain  of  inlands,  called  the  Grand  Traverse.  Their  sides  are 
high,  rocky,  and  bold ;  and,  being  of  liuie»lone,  have  been  worn 
into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes,  which,  even  without  the  aid 
of  fancy,  ansunic  the  appearances  described  in  the  text. 


"AmtH 


IS 


ONTWA. 


Drooping  in  melancholy  grace 
On  broken  frize  and  mould'ring  base  ; 
While  here  and  there,  like  drifts  of  snow, 
Amid  the  waves  the  white  rocks  show, 
Stripp'd  of  their  soil  and  left  all  bare, 
As  bones  of  islands  bleaching  there. 


Far  up  the  lengthenM  bay  we  urge, 
To  where  the  triple  streams  converge 
And  on  its  reedy  head  distil 
The  tribute  sent  from  distant  hill — 
Now  mounting  up  the  sinuous  bed 
Of  Wagouche  to  its  marshy  head, 
We  toil  against  the  foamy  leaps — * 
Or  wind  where  still  the  current  sleeps 
Mid  seas  of  grain, t  the  boon  of  heaven 
To  steril  climes  in  bounty  given. 
At  last  we  reach  the  narrow  mound — 
The  wide  diverging  waters  bound — 
Where,  almost  mingling  as  they  glide 
In  smooth  and  counter-current  tide, 


I 


*  Called  Saults  by  the  inliabitntitg — and  Rometime.s  Chutes. 
— *  La  Grande  Chute'  is  here  alluded  to. — Wagouche  is  one 
of  the  lodian  names  tor  the  Fox  rivor.  It  receives,  Just  as  it 
falls  into  the  head  of  Green  Bay,  the  ad<iition  of  two  rivers. 

t  The  Fols-avoine — fatua  avena,  or  wild  rice,  which  grows 
iu  great  abuudauce  in  the  Fox  river. 


■~r-rgjs^-~'j 


""^"^^iiis^'    ■iimp'."j:i.«.'*  '  ■■^n 


ONTWA. 


13 


Two  rivers  turn  in  sever'd  race, 
And  flow,  with  still  enlarging  space, 
Till  one  rolls  down  beneath  the  north 
And  pours  its  icy  torrent  forth, 
While — glowing  as  it  hurries  on — 
The  other  seeks  a  southern  zone.* 
Here,  as  the  heaven  dissolves  in  showers, 
The  boon  on  either  stream  it  pours. 
And  the  same  sunbeams,  as  they  stray. 
On  both  with  light  impartial  play  ; 
But  onward  as  each  current  hies. 
New  climes  and  sunder'd  tropicks  rise. 
And,  urging,  growing,  as  they  run. 
Each  follows  down  a  varying  sun, 
Till,  o'er  her  tepid  Delta  spread, 
The  Michi-sipi  bows  her  head, — 
While  Lawrence  vainly  strives  to  sweep 
His  gelid  surface  to  the  deep. 
Scarce  did  the  low  and  slender  neck 
The  progress  of  our  passage  check  ; 
And  ere  our  bark — which,  dripping,  bore 
The  marks  of  rival  waters  o'er — 


r\ 


*  The  Portage  of  the  Fox  and  Ouisconsin  rivers,  by  which 
they  are  separated,  is  only  a  niie  und  a  half.  These  rivers, 
though  here  nearly  united,  discharge  iheir  waters  into  the  sea 
at  points  between  three  and  four  thousand  miles  apart. 


!■>»   i.irri    iiilM 


14 


ONTWA. 


Had  lost  in  air  its  humid  stain, 
'Twas  launch'd,  and  floating  on  again — 
Mid  isles  in  willow'd  beauty  dress'd 
That  deck'd  Ouisconsin's  yellow  breast. 


The  stream  ran  fast,  and  soon  the  scene 
Changed  into  frowns  its  smiles  serene. 
Nature  arose  in  troubled  mood, 
And  hills  and  cliffs,  of  aspect  rude. 
Hoary  with  barrenness,  save  where 
The  stunted  cedar  hung  in  air 
Fix'd  in  the  rocks  that  beetled  high, 
Darken'd  the  current  rushing  by — 
Oil  choked  and  broken  in  its  pass 
By  mighty  fragments'  clogging  mass, 
Sever'd,  mayhap,  by  bolt  of  heaven. 
And  down  the  steep  in  thunder  driven. 


ll    ' 


Our  rapid  bark,  ere  twice  the  day 
Had  shone  upon  its  downward  way, 
Tum'd  its  light  prow,  in  upward  course, 
To  stem  the  Michi-sipi's  force — 
Where  her  broad  wave  rolls  on  amajn, 
Sever'd  by  '  thousand  isles'  in  twain. 
And  giant  cliifs,  with  threatning  frown, 
Conduct  her  prison'd  current  down. 


ONTWA. 


15 


Full  many  a  stream,  on  either  side, 
Through  the  cleft  walls  sends  forth  its  tide. 
Descending  far  from  distant  plains, 
Where  in  its  gloom  the  Prairie  reigns. 
Seated  in  grandeur  on  its  throne 
Amid  a  desert  world  alone. 
Oft  up  the  steeps,  by  ru^ed  path 
Sloped  by  the  winter  torrent's  wrath, 
We  toird,  where  high  the  sumach  hung, 
And  tendril  vines  around  it  clung. 
Checking  our  way  with  woven  bowers, 
Or  twining  over  head  their  flowers  ; 
While  higher  still,  in  dizzier  break, 
The  trembling  aspen  tree  would  shake — 
And  oft  the  wandVing  eye  would  meet 
With  sparkling  crystals  'neath  the  feet. 
Rudely  enchased  on  some  dark  stone 
Shining  with  lustre  not  its  own. 
Hard  the  ascent,  but  fair  the  sight 
That  spread  beneath  the  lofty  height. 
Where  river,  isles,  and  meadows  drew 
Their  varied  pictures  to  the  view, — 
Or  would  the  downward  eye  forbear 
To  dwell  on  scene  so  soft  and  fair, 
'Twas  but  to  raise  a  level  glance 
And  all  was  rude  and  bold  at  once, 


n     ' 


16 


ONTWA. 


V  v 


'!  Ml 

H 


VI     I 


Where  the  dark  Bluffs,  half  bare,  half 

crown'd. 
Arose  in  gloomy  sternness  'round. 

For  many  a  day  the  stream  we  stemm'd. 
Through  isles  that  still  its  bosom  gemm'd, 
While  oft,  where  back  the  cliffs  retired, 
The  waving  plain,  in  green  attired, 
Smiled  in  the  dark  and  deep  recess, 
Like  guarded  spot  in  wilderness  ; 
(Where  Hamadryades  might  sport. 
Or  Fairies  hold  their  dewy  court.) 

At  last  our  bark,  mid  eddies  toss'd 
And  foam  that  all  the  wave  emboss'd, 
Was  warn'd — ere  yet  the  torrent's  roar 
Was  heard — to  turn  its  keel  ashore. 
Now  clambering  up  the  steep  ascent. 
Our  course  along  the  brink  was  bent, 
Where  the  descending,  broken  dood, 
On  rocks  that  firm  its  force  withstood, 
Show'd  signs  of  mightier  conflict  near 
Whose  rumblings  now  rose  on  the  ear. 


Why  checks  my  guide  on  yonder  rise, 
And  bends  to  earth  in  mute  surprise, 


ONTWA. 


17 


I 


As  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  air 
Had  burst  upon  his  vision  there  ? 
'Twas  the  vast  Cataract*  that  threw 
Its  broad  effulgence  o^er  his  view, 
Like  sheet  of  silver  hung  on  high 
And  glittering  'neath  the  northern  sky. 
Nor  think  that  Pilgrim  eyes  could  dwell 
On  the  bright  torrent  as  it  fell, 
With  soul  unawed.     We  look'd  above 
And  saw  the  waveless  channel  move, 
FillVl  hum  the  fountains  of  the  north 
And  sent  through  varied  regions  forth, 
Till,  deep  and  broad  and  placid  grown. 
It  comes  in  quiet  beauty  down — 
Unconscious  of  the  dizzy  steep 
O'er  which  its  current  soon  must  sweep. 
The  eye  hung  shudd'ring  on  the  brink, 
As  it  had  powerless  wish  to  shrink. 
Then  instant  sunk,  where  mid  the  spray. 
All  the  bright  sheet  in  ruin  lay. 
The  tumult  swells,  and  on  again 
The  eddying  waters  roll  amain, 

*  The  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  first  discovered  and  named 
hy  father  Heniiipeii. 

3 


•^:nais 


18 


ONTWA. 


II         \' 


^    \ 


I    ! 


si 


^^ 


^  il 


Still  foaming  down  in  angry  pride, 
Till  mingling  rirers  smooth  its  tick. 
Nor  did  the  isle,  whose  promont  wedge 
Hangs  on  the  torrent's  dizzy  edge, 
Escape  the  view  ;  nor  sister  twin 
That  smiles  amid  the  nether  din- 
Closed  in  the  raging  flood's  embrace, 
And  free  from  human  footstep's  trace  ; 
Where  the  proud  Eagle  builds  bis  throne, 
And  rules  in  majesty  alone.* 
Approaching  still,  and  more  entranced 
As  still  the  lingering  step  advanced, 
We  stood  at  last  in  pleased  delay 
O'erlooking  all  the  bright  display. 
While  the  gay  tints  of  western  flame 
That  down  the  day's  obliqueness  came, 
On  hanging  sheet  and  level  stream 
Darted  a  soft  and  slanting  beam. 
While  thus  we  paused,  bent  o'er  a  rock 
Whose  tremours  own'd  the  general  shock. 
The  wand'ruBg  vision  chanced  to  meet— - 
Fix'd  like  a  statue  on  its  seat 


*  Carver  says  that  the  sroall  island,  at  the  foot  of  these 
Falls,  is  inaccessible  to  man  and  beast,  and  that  almost  every 
tree  upon  it  sustains  the  eyry  of  an  eagle. 


I 


fi     ! 


aM!>**'-^v> 


ONTWA. 


19 


Of  jutting  fragment,  whither  flew 
The  torrent  spray  in  silvery  dew — 
Ad  Indian  form.     No  motion  told 
That  'twas  not  some  unbreathing  mould 
Which  savage  chisel  might  have  traced 
And  near  the  sacred  cascade*  placed. 
We  nearer  drew,  when  clearer  sight 
Truly  betray'd  a  living  wight — 
Yet  lost  so  deep  in  musings  wild. 
And  by  the  torrent  so  beguiled, 
That  scarce  his  breathings  seem'd  his  own 
But  motion  caught  from  trembling  stone. 
Hail'd  by  my  guide,  in  well-known  tongue, 
He  turn'd,  and  back  his  dark  locks  flung, 
Raising  an  eye — though  now  sunk  deep 
By  woes,  perhaps  too  strong  to  weep — 
That  still  shone  forth  with  ray  intense, 
As  wont  a  spirit  to  condense. 
Whose  ardent  energies  had  felt 
All  that  could  fire,  or  rend,  or  melt. 
Familiar  speech  and  forest  guise 
Appear'd  to  wake  but  short  surprise  ; 


*  The  Indians  believe  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony  to  be  the 
residence  of  the  Great  Spirit. 


p»— '~«i|^J*w^™ 


so 


ONTWA. 


And  calmly  he  had  turn'd  again 
To  fall  anew  in  musing  train, 
When  his  fierce  eye  just  caught  the  trace 
Of  white  man  in  the  Pilgrim's  face. 
Reviving  mem'ry  seem'd  to  read 
Some  story  there,  of  wo  or  dread  ; 
And  quickly,  as  his  brain  were  fired 
With  anguish  that  the  view  inspired, 
And  his  worn  form  no  more  could  bear 
The  struggles  of  some  deep  despair, 
He  sunk  to  earth  in  prostrate  grief 
Ere  friendly  arm  could  give  relief. 


What  boots  it  that  the  tale  should  say 
What  hours  or  suns  were  pass'd  away 
In  soothing  kindness  by  the  guide. 
With  pitying  Pilgrim  by  his  side, 
Ere  that  the  Forest  son  arose 
And  told  his  tale  of  many  woes  ? 


t 


i 


ONTWA. 

PART  n. 

«  Last  of  my  tribe — a  mighty  race  ! — 
My  wand'ring  feet  have  sought  this  place, 
Where  the  Great  Spirit  rolls  his  wave, 
To  iind  a  lone  and  sacred  grave. 
Why  does  the  welcome  hour  delay, 
That  sends  my  wearied  soul  away  ? 
When  will  the  thund'ring  waters  close 
Over  the  last  of  Erie's  woes, 

And  waft  down  Ontwa  to  the  land 
Where,  risen  again,  the  Erie  band 
On  brighter  streams  and  fairer  plain 
Renew  the  war  and  chase  again  ?* 


*  The  Indians  have  but  vague  notions  of  their  posthumout 
destiny ;  but  as  they  believe  the  sports  most  valued  in  this  life, 
such  as  war  and  the  chase,  are  continued  after  death,  they  ge- 
nerally place  their  heaven  either  within  the  earth,  or  in  some 
distant  place  upon  it,  as  being  better  suited  to  such  occupations 
than  the  undefined  regions  above. 


'  > 


22  ONTWA. 

There  my  great  sire,  with  chiding  eyes, 
Impatient  turns  to  upper  skies 
And  asks  the  tardy  hour  to  come, 
That  brings  his  lingering  offspring  home. 
He  counts  his  tribe — still  misses  one, 
And  seeks  in  vain  his  absent  son, — 
The  last  sad  remnant  of  his  kind, 
Condemned  to  wander  yet  behind. 
But  oh !  a  spirit  still  more  fair 
Awaits  to  welcome  Ontwa  there,— 
Whose  beauty  sprung  from  eastern  light, 
Just  glitter'd  on  my  forest  sight. 
Then  sunk,  alas  !  in  sudden  night. 


Why  should  my  gloomy  soul  recall, 

Or  Ontwa's  love,  or  Erie's  fall  ? 

But  'tis  my  vow  to  bear  my  grief. 

Nor  seek  the  balsam  of  relief: 

I've  sworn  to  wear  th'  envenom'd  dart 

Still  rankling  in  my  aching  heart, 

And  join  my  love  on  plains  below, 

With  all  the  anguish  of  my  wo  ; 

Nor  bear  one  thought  whose  cheering  ray 

Might  gleam  upon  my  darkling  way, 

Or  chance  to  break  the  sacred  gloom 

That  shrouds  my  passage  to  the  tomb. 


f 


■"«>--|»*i*i*-— "^         ^Ji*..- 


ONTWA. 


23 


'Twill  but  revive  a  deeper  wail,— 
Then  why  refuse  to  tell  mj  tale  ? 
Haply  the  shrunken  cords  of  life— 
Too  weak  to  bear  the  inward  strife- 
May  sever  ere  the  tale  shall  close  : 
Would  that  I  thus  could  meet  repose, 
And  with  one  agonizing  sigh 
Breathe  out  my  many  woes,  and  die. 

Scarce  twice  twelve  seasons  now  have  shed 
Their  bloom,  or  bhght,  on  Ontwa's  head. 
My  sire,  Kaakaskia,  reign'd  supreme 
O'er  all  the  tribes  on  hill  and  stream, 
From  distant  Huron's  stormy  shore 
To  where  Niag'ra's  thunders  roar ; 
While  Erie  and  Ontario's  wave, 
To  swell  his  power,  their  tribute  gave, 
And  oft  had  borne  to  shores  afar 
His  thousand  barks  in  daring  war.    . 
Deep  in  the  centre  of  his  bands. 
On  lofty  height,  which  far  commands, 
He  placed  his  smoke,*  whose  rising  spire 
For  ever  told  Kaskaskia's  fire. 


*  A  fire,  or  gmoke,  in  the  figurative  language  of  the  sa- 
vages, denotes  a  residence  or  settlement. 


,^.««S^fl«?)V»'4r<»P! 


'grr-^-- 


I 

\  1 


-  J 

-  1 


1      t 


i 


1 


1   < 


M  UNTWA. 

Here  oft  the  Rrnnt!  dt-bjite  nrouc 
Which  (InomM  the  fato  of  iitMKhbVinK  foes  ; 
AikI  here,  to  wnriii  the  liMt'nin^  young 
And  nerve  their  hearts  hut  newly  strung, 
The  old,  exporting  all  their  sc.tirn, 
Would  tell  the  tale  of  Krie's  wars  ; 
Till,  like  a  tippM  and  t'oatherM  dart 
Ready  from  bended  how  to  start. 
Their  youthful  hearts  would  pant  to  wear 
The  trophied  skin  of  elk  or  bear, 
And  sec  the  foe,  in  fancied  tight, 
Already  conquered,  or  in  dight. 

A  mighty  oak,  whose  spreading  arms 

Had  stood  the  brunt  of  tempest  harms 

UnnumberM  snows,*  and  still  could  bring 

Its  verdant  tribute  to  the  spring, 

Upon  the  highest  summit  stood, 

A  beacon  midst  the  sea  of  wood  ; 

Some  grey  and  splinter'd  boughs  were  seen 

Shooting  athwart  its  ample  green, — 

Not  the  hoar  emblems  of  decay, 

But  wrecks  of  lightning's  wrathful  play, 


*  The  savages  number  the  lapse  of  years  by  snowi,  or 
winters. 


u 


tJNTWA. 


20 


Scam  on  a  brow  too  often  driven 
AgiiinHt  the  wnrrinK  powers  <•!  heaven. 
No  other  tree  nor  shrub  whh  there  ; 
The  hill-top  eUc  were  blenk  ami  bsire  ; 
And,  Have  the  scanty  moitH  which  grew 
Beneath  the  shade  its  foliage  threw, 
No  green  relieved  the  rocky  waste 
Which  round  its  brow  a  fillet  traced, 
liike  mighty  band  of  wampum,*  spread 
Around  a  giant's  plumed  head. 

Now  had  the  hascel  given  its  diet 
Full  eighteen  springs  to  Ontwa's  eye. 
And  this  young  arm,  with  growing  nerve, 
Had  learnt  the  twanging  bow  to  serve, 
And  many  a  deer  had  lent  its  horn 
My  sportive  triumphs  to  adorn  ; 
When,  mid  his  chiefs,  I  saw  my  sire 
Awake  on  high  the  council  tire. 
And,  as  the  dark  ascending  smoke 
Curl'd  upwards  round  the  lofty  oak, 
He  rose  amid  the  circling  crowd 
With  eye  severe,  shook  cflT  the  shroud — 


^  The  Wampum  is  maiiv.  of  strings  of  bends,  which  the 
Indians  use  for  purposes  of  orniimcnt,  &c. 

tThe  predominant  coluurofthe  Indian's  eye  is  a  dark  hazel. 

4 


'.'I 


>  I    ! 


5 


) 


I 


36 


ONTWA. 


si  r 


Ph 


A  skin  of  Buffalo — that  dress'd 

The  broad  diinenHion  of  his  breast ; 

And  while  the  hand  that  grasps  the  bow 

Braced  'round  the  ample  folds  below, 

The  arm  that  guides  the  arrow  hung 

All  free  to  aid  his  speaking  tongue. 

Ere  that  the  deep  and  labouring  speech, 

As  slow  to  rise,  his  lips  could  reach. 

His  lofty  gesture  led  the  eye 

To  send  a  trembling  glance  on  high. 

While  yet,  as  with  a  powerful  charm, 

Each  feeling  hung  upon  his  arm, 

A  mountain  cloud  was  seen  to  rise 

Fast  from  the  depths  of  eastern  skies. 

Like  mighty  barrier  in  the  way,  • 

Threatening  to  close  the  gates  of  day. 

Its  towering  peak  and  spreading  base. 

Still  rolling  up  the  azure  space, 

With  fast  increasing  horrors  grew  ; 

Till  half  the  heavens  were  veil'd  from  view, 

And  day's  broad  eye,  closed  in  a  frown. 

No  longer  on  the  world  look'd  down. 

Unmoved,  alone  Kaskaskia  stood. 

And  all  the  spreading  fury  view'd 

With  steady  eye,  while  the  bright  glare 

Of  forked  lightning  seam'd  the  air. 


,*a 


*^<f.g»«i'-    'fm 


ONTWA. 


27 


With  voice,  that  still  was  loudly  heard 
Amid  the  turbulence  that  stirr'd 
The  heavens  to  war,  he  thus  express'd 
The  dark  forebodings  of  his  breast. 
"  Three  times  the  east,  array'd  in  storms. 
Has  fill'd  my  dreams  with  deep  alarms  ; 
Three  times  this  cloud,  in  vision'd  wrath. 
Has  darkly  cross'd  my  dreaming  path, 
While  the  Great  Spirit,  as  it  pass'd, 
Has  spoke  in  thunders  from  the  blfist. 
Know,  mighty  chiefs,  the  hour  is  come 
That  threatens  Erie's  final  doom. 
The  evil  Manitou*  this  hour 
Leads  hitherward  a  mighty  power — 
A  power  of  overwhelming  might — 
Which,  coming  from  the  fount  of  light, 
By  white  man's  vengeful  arm  oppress'd, 
Seeks  out  a  refuge  in  the  west. 
Great  Saranac,  whose  skill  and  force 
Tower  supreme  like  eagle's  course, 
Leads  on  the  first ;  and  many  a  band 
Is  leagued  beneath  his  strong  command, — 
All  sworn  to  quench  their  ancient  fires 
Where  sleep  the  ashes  of  their  sires, 


*  Manitou  means  Spirit,  as  IMichi-Manitou — Great  Spi- 
rit— and  Kichi-Manitou,  Evil  Spirit. 


ll' 


■■»'. 


if 


38 


ONTWA. 


*!  { 


!       V 


M    M 


Nor  ask  again  the  kindling  sun 

Till  Erie's  forest  shores  be  won. 

Already  by  the  fav'ring  wind 

They  leave  the  Iroquois*  behind, — 

And  plying  still  the  active  oar, 

Sweep  up  Ontario's  farther  shore. 

Resolved  to  cross  as  soon  as  sight 

Shall  catch  the  view  of  adverse  height  :t 

Perchance  already  o'er  the  lake 

Their  bold  and  hostile  course  they  take. 

Thus  the  Great  Spirit,  in  my  dreams, 
Spoke  mid  the  stormy  lightning's  gleams  ; 
And  now  again  he  speaks  to  all, 
Darkly  foretelling  Erie's  fall. 
Yon  rolling  cloud,  which  low'ring  spreads, 
Suspending  ruin  o'er  our  heads, 
Erelong  will  give  its  thunders  birth. 
And  bound  in  fury  to  our  earth  : — 
Thus  Saranac  with  hostile  bands 
Will  soon  descend  on  Erie's  lands. 
But  though  it  be  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
Shall  Erie  hence  be  tamely  driven, — 


*  The  Indian  name  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 
t  Fruin  tlie  heights  of  Queenston  may  be  seen  those  of 
York,  U.  C. 


laf^jHw-Wy*-  ■Tf*.*."t?-i'^ 


ONTWA. 


29 


Cut  off  from  hills  our  sires  have  ranged 
Till  seasons  have,  forgotten,  changed, 
And  countless  snows,  like  marks  of  time, 
Have  melted  from  their  peaks  sublime  ? 
Shall  we  unstring  the  stubborn  bow, 
And  all  our  ancient  chase  forego, 
The  Erie's  boon  since  times  far  gone, 
When  the  huge  mammoth,  overthrown 
For  proudly  daring  Heaven  to  war, 
O'er  the  great  waters  fled  afar  ? 
No — as  this  head  would  stand  unbow'd 
Though  yonder  black  and  threatning  cloud 
Should  launch  its  heaviest  bolt,  and  make 
This  hill-top  to  its  centre  shake — 
So  will  Kaskaskia  raise  his  arm 
To  shield  you  from  impending  harm." 


While  yet  his  arm,  of  nervous  strength. 
Was  raised  aloft  in  daring  length. 
The  ruptured  cloud  sent  forth  a  flash 
Which,  ere  the  warning  thunder's  crash 
Was  heard,  in  crackling  fury  broke 
On  the  broad  frontlet  of  the  oak. 
Prostrate  the  crowd  in  tremour  sunk. 
Clinging  to  rocks  that  quaked  and  shrunk, 


1  l( 

I'  ( I 


t 


n^ 


i 


20  ONTWA. 

Nor  saw,  till  from  the  hills  around 
Echo  return'd  her  faintest  sound, 
That  still  Kaskaskia  held  his  brow 
Erect  beneath  the  awful  blow  : 
And  though  his  arm,  which  had  been  raised 
Just  as  the  vivid  lightning  blazed, 
Now,  wither'd,  by  his  quiver  hung 
Like  hunter's  nervous  bow  unstrung  ; 
Yet  high  was  fix'd  his  steady  eye 
On  the  fierce  conflict  of  the  sky. 
As  he  would  mock,  in  proud  despair, 
The  fate  proclaim'd  in  thunder  there. 


With  proud,  yet  pitying  eye,  he  saw 
The  crowd  dejected  thus  with  awe, 
And,  half  reproving,  bade  them  rise, 
Nor  sink  beneath  the  angry  skies. 
"  Let  not  the  Erie  warrior  droop — 
Arise,  to  war — with  fellest  whoop  ! 
Speed !  Every  chief  his  subjects  wake  ! 
The  barbed  dart  and  war  club  take — 
And,  on  those  heights  which  catch  the  ray 
Of  blue  Ontario's  setting  day. 
Collect  and  hold  your  faithful  bands  ; 
There  wait  your  coming  chief's  commands,- 


-r'    i^Ti'im    HI  i«iii  iiliiu'    I  >""* 


ONTWA. 


31 


Nor  will  Kaskaskia's  eagle  plume 
Fail  at  the  signal  hour  to  come. 
Mean-time,  from  lofty  capes  where  raves 
The  whirlwind  over  Erie's  waves, 
I'll  seek,  amid  the  howling  storm, 
The  Manitou's  appalling  form  ; 
And  leurn  from  blasts  the  deepest  fate 
Which  Erie's  fortunes  may  await." 

He  ceased — when  every  chief  in  haste 
His  quiver  hung,  and  wampum  braced. 
And  o'er  his  shoulders  loosely  spread 
His  skin,  as  if  for  march  of  speed, — 
And  then,  like  herd  of  scatter'd  deer, 
Surprised  by  ambush'd  hunter  near, 
That  bounding  off  in  antler'd  pride 
Flies  to  the  wood  on  every  side, 
They  darted  down  the  hill  amain 
And  soon  were  crossing  level  plain — 
Their  feather'd  crests,  in  buoyant  grace, 
Dancing  with  every  springing  pace, 
Marking  afar  their  various  ways 
Till  lost  within  the  woody  maze. 


"  Ontwa !  the  lightning  lent  its  gleam 
But  to  confirm  Kaskaskia's  dream : 


32 


ONTWA. 


i!  t 


Three  times  the  Manitou  has  given 

My  dreaming  ear  the  will  of  heaven  ; 

Yet  will  Kaskaskia  never  yield 

Save  in  the  bloody  battle  field. 

Springing  from  lands  which  stretch  afar 

Where  coldly  shines  the  moveless  star, 

Erie's  bold  race  by  conquest  won 

These  milder  regions  of  the  sun. 

A  proud  and  mighty  race — so  says 

Tradition  of  forgotten  days — 

Then  ruled  these  Lakes  ;  with  cunning  blest 

In  arts  and  arms  o'er  all  the  west, — 

As  still  appears  from  square  and  line 

Of  warlike  aspect  and  design, 

Whose  lengthened  trench  and  mound  enseam 

The  banks  of  many  a  winding  stream, 

Muskinghum  and  Ohio  fair, 

Spreading  o'er  plain  and  hillock  there — 

Though  worn  and  crumbled  now  by  time, 

And  bearing  trees,  of  height  subhme, 

Ofl'spring,  perhaps,  of  elder  shade 

That  there  has  flourish'd  and  decay'd. 


The  Erie  bands,  though  all  unskill'd 
In  arts  and  arms,  and  trenched  field — 


1 


mm 


imm 


ItMiMMteraMU-uiMM 


ONTWA. 


33 


Nor  other  shield  or  weapon  knew 
Than  naked  breast  and  arrow  true, 
Yet  far  in  strength  and  valour  rose 
Above  their  more  experienced  foes. 
Full  many  a  snow  on  hill  and  plain 
Descended  and  dissolved  again, 
Ere  that  the  contest,  tierce  and  long, 
Between  the  skilful  and  the  strong. 
Was  closed  ;  and  many  a  mound  may  still 
Be  seen  on  time-worn  plain  and  hill, — 
Once  red  with  blood, — that  mouldering  tell 
Where  thousands  fought,  and  thousands  fell. 
At  last,  great  Areouski's*  might 
Was  leagued  with  Erie  in  the  fight — 
Who  drove  afar  the  remnant  bands 
To  find  new  homes  in  other  lands, 
And  leave  to  victor  foes  the  spoil 
Of  lakes  and  streams  and  shaded  soil. 
Here,  Ontwa,  have  Kaskaskia's  sires 
For  ages  raised  their  council  fires — 
And  shall  we  yield  these  lands  unfought. 
So  long  preserved,  so  dearly  bought  ? 
No — Erie's  smokes  shall  still  arise, 
And  curl  amid  her  native  skies  : 

*  The  Indian  god  of  war. 
5 


--iPB*:'^i 


n 


.  « 


■  / 


84 


ONTWA. 


And  when  they  sink — with  the  last  flame 
Let  perish  £rie'8  race  and  name. 

One  duty,  Ontwa,  yet  remains : 
This  weapon,  red  with  bloody  stains,* 
Must  Erie's  bold  defiance  speak 
To  Saranac  :  him  must  thou  seek. 
Should  Saranac  the  pledge  receive, 
And  still  thy  life  and  freedom  leave, 
Like  mountain  deer,  thy  footsteps  turn 
To  heights  where  Erie's  fires  shall  bum. 
Fix  in  thy  crest  this  heron  plume, 
Which  none  but  warriors  e'er  assume. 
Or  messengers,  like  thee,  who  go 
With  bold  defiance  to  the  foe. 


n  { 


i      '■ 


Thy  quiver  is  already  hung — 

Quick  let  thy  slacken'd  bow  be  strung. 

The  foe — so  said  my  three-fold  dream — 

Debarks  beside  Niag'ra's  stream : 

Nor  gloomy  night,  nor  sultry  day. 

Nor  streams,  nor  wood,  must  cause  delay ; 

*  Carver  says  that  the  Indians,  when  they  declare  war, 
send  a  blood-stained  weapon  as  a  signal.  The  messenger  is 
generally  a  slave,  who  is  often  killed  in  the  errand. 


ONTWA. 


36 


The  shrub  nmst  yield  tiiy  wranty  food, 
Thy  hiisty  sleep  inunt  be  in  wood, 
Thy  pace  must  leave  the  deer  behind 
And  follow  up  the  fleetest  wind — 
Lest  thou  shouldst  fail  the  feast  to  share. 
Our  gath'ring  bands  will  soon  prepare, 
To  Ht  the  soul  for  battle  deed 
And  teach  the  warrior  how  to  bleed." 


Kaskaskia  ceased — when,  like  the  dart, 
Was  Ontwa's  plumage  seen  to  part. 
The  craggy  hill-top  soon  was  clear'd, 
The  plain  was  past,  the  forest  near'd  ; 
While  feehngs  new  to  youthful  breast 
Waked  in  my  heart  a  warlike  zest, 
And  tossing  high  my  plumed  head 
More  proud  became  my  bounding  tread 
When  oft  the  nervous  bow  was  bent 
And  feath'ry  arrow  forward  sent, 
To  try  my  fleet  and  rival  pace 
In  contest  with  its  winged  race. 


< « 


I.  \ 


h 


i. 


\' 


■•««ae»<aKS!Sl;a 


■*•*»«-%, 


■MH*i 


mmm 


ONTWA. 

PART  III. 

'  The  sultry  <lay— for  'twas  the  moon* 
When  day  ascciuls  to  highest  noon- 
Went  slowly  down,— the  shadows  deep 
First  o'er  the  sunken  valleys  sweep, 
Then  gradual  climb  the  peaked  hill 
Where  yellow  twilight  lingers  still  :— 
But  Ontwa's  step  no  falt'ring  knew, 
And  still  press'd  on  as  day  withdrew. 

The  night  was  now  at  top  of  heaven, 
The  stars  had  half  their  lustre  given  ; 
And  oft  the  night  bird,  as  her  eye 
Was  musing  on  the  silent  sky, 

•  June.— The  Indians  reckon  months  by  moons,  generally 
designating  tliem  by  some  appropriate  appellation,  such  as 
the  hunting  moon,  the  sultry  moon,  Ike. 


t***-*^'*. 


V 


r 


t.  Ill- 


K     i 


38  ONTVVA, 

Srarod  at  the  noise  of  Ihhi^  pinh 

'J'liat  (la^liM  asitlc  the  stdhltorn  ImisIi — 

L'lilikt'  th«  wolf  ill  wily  loiiiid, 

Or  wildcat's  tar  lint  tioiscUwH  boiiiid — 

Had  ritfi)  ulot't  and  with  hrr  H('i'(>aiii<i 

Distiirh'd  the  stilly  hour  of  ilroaiiis. 

At  last,  aiiiorig  the  shadows  near, 

The  ulide  of  water  cau^ht  my  ear. 

Oh,  what  a  charm  to  lips  that  thirst, 

J  las  ri|)|iling  water's  sudden  liurst! 

Long  had  my  wearied  pathway  led, 

'I'll rough  wilds  that  then  exhausted  spread. 

Where  streamlets,  dying  Ht  their  source. 

To  mossy  rocks  had  left  their  course, 

And  dews  which  on  the  foliage  hung 

Alone  had  cool'd  my  fever'd  tongue. 


H 


\ 


There,  'neath  the  trees  whose  hanging  shade 
More  dark  the  murm'ring  current  made, 
And,  as  the  breeze  pass'd  o'er,  would  seem 
To  kiss,  with  loving  bough,  the  stream. 
Prone  on  my  breast  I  lay,  and  gave 
My  thirsting  fever  to  the  wave. 
While  thus  reposing  on  the  ground, 
List'ning  to  every  passmg  sound, 


'  tir-  *  m  ■<  —Km,  fc    I  ■  ^ 


ONTWA. 


39 


With  cyeK  intent  iipuii  the  wood 
Wheru  MOon  my  mtirch  muHt  be  renew'd, 
A  Htately  deer,  iVorn  advenie  side, 
KuHh'd  down  to  quul;  the  cooling  tide, 
"  Drink  on,"  I  said,  '*  nor  feur  my  bow 
Will  lay  thy  branching  antlers  low. 
Like  thee  was  Ontwa  glad  to  dip 
In  cooling  wave  his  parched  lip." 

While  thus  I  musing  said,  methought 
His  watchful  eye  4ome  object  caught ; 
And  soon,  around  a  point  which  bent 
The  river  from  its  straight  descent. 
Appeared  a  red  and  flickering  flame 
Which  downward  with  the  current  came — 
As  if  Home  spirit  of  the  stream 
Had  lighted  up  a  friendly  beam 
To  guide  the  waters  on  their  way 
While  'neath  the  hills  should  sleep  the  day- 
With  one  foot  raised,  as  if  for  flight, 
And  hectd  erected  tow'rds  the  light, 
He  stood ;  fix'd  by  the  dazzling  charm. 
All  thoughtleaa  of  the  ambush'd  harm, 


-  "^««^' 


f 


I!' 

I     ' 

>  h 


w. 


r 


11 ' 


i 

'    ■       I' 

I 


40  ONTWA. 

Till  twanging  bow  an  arrow  speeding 
Laid  him  upon  the  pebbles  bleeding.* 
From  light  canoe,  the  torch  that  bore, 
A  hunter  leap'd  upon  the  shore. 
Half  pleased  half  sorrowful  survey'd 
The  victim  that  his  dart  had  made  : 
And  as  he  glided  off  again 
Thus  raised  the  wild  and  simple  strain. 

Ah,  hapless  deer ! 

Thy  fleet  career 

Will  ne'er  again 

Skim  o'er  the  plain, 
Nor  up  the  breezy  mountain ; 

And  at  the  dawn, 

Thy  doe  and  fawn 

Will  vainly  seek 

Thee  on  the  creek, 
And  near  the  gurgling  fountain. 


*  During  the  summer  months,  the  Indians  hunt  the  deer 
on  the  rivers  :  The  insects  drive  them  into  the  water,  and  the 
hunter,  floating  down  under  the  crver  of  night,  with  a  torch 
in  the  bow  of  his  canoe,  comes  upon  the  animal  while  he  is 
gazing  bewildered  at  the  light,  and  gives  tlie  fatal  wound  ere 
he  is  aware  of  any  danger. 


•■-'^-V-a_  A.*.-^, 


A,  ^-^-J,-   y« 


ONTWA, 


41 


# 

re, 
d 

lin. 


J 


It  the  deer 
;r,  and  the 
ith  a  torch 
I'hile  he  is 
vound  ere 


'Twas  Chanta's  eye 

That  bade  thee  die, 

For  her  I  rove 

A  slave  to  love, 
Condemn'd  to  float  the  river, 

Till  branching  horn 

My  bark  adorn, 

Or  blood  of  doe 

Rest  on  my  bow, 
And  spot  my  stainless  quiver, 

(Think  not  the  heart  in  desert  bred 

To  passion's  softer  touch  is  dead, 

Or  that  this  shadowy  skin  contains 

No  bright  and  animated  veins — 

Where,  though  no  blush  its  course  betrays, 

The  blood  in  all  its  wildness  plays.) 

Mid  drooping  trees  and  dusky  night 

Soon  disappear'd  the  bark  and  light. 

And  paddle's  dip  and  hunter's  lay 

At  last  in  murmurs  died  away. 

As  rising  from  my  bed  of  moss, 
The  stream,  now  still  again,  to  cross, 
My  thoughts  pursued  the  hunter  boy 
So  full  of  triumph,  love,  and  joy. 
6 


/;, 


'■"^^  ;.-■•■»?*, 


/ 


7.-1, 


42 


ONTVVA. 


'! 


Wlh 


"  Cast  in  the  stream  thy  brindled  prize, 
Nor  seek  a  smile  in  Chanta's  eyes, — 
No  more  shall  chase  of  deer  or  love 
The  keenness  of  thy  arrow  prove  : 
The  sounds  of  war  already  fill 
The  wigwams  of  thy  native  hill. 
And  Chanta's  voice,  that  bade  thee  stain 
Thy  spotless  dart  in  deer-blood  slain, 
Must  bid  thee  take  a  nobler  bow 
And  meet  in  bloodier  field  the  foe." 

The  stream  was  pass'd — and  fresh  from  rest, 
Again  through  length'ning  wilds  I  prest, 
Dripping  with  damps  of  stream  and  dew. 
Till  peep  of  morn  broke  on  the  view. 
I  stay'd  a  moment  on  the  height 
Where  blue  Ontario  meets  the  sight, 
And  when  the  star  of  day  arose 
Refresh'd  and  bright  from  long  repose, 
Rethought  the  broad  and  pohsh'd  wave 
Some  brief  and  distant  glimpses  gave 
Of  barks,  or  shadows  moving  there, — 
But  soon  'twas  lost  amid  the  glare. 
Onward  I  pass'd,  now  plunging  down 
The  shelving  steep  from  summit's  crown  ; 


i 

I 

'■i 


^..-■k 


.  -h 


led  prize, 
yes,-. 
I"  love 
•ve  ; 


ee  stain 
iain, 


ONTWA. 

Now  breaking  through  the  deep  ravine, 
Where  light  of  day  is  dimly  seen, 
And  tangled  trees  and  rocky  path 
Show  signs  of  winter's  loosen'd  wrath  ; 
Now  scaling  high  the  steep  again, 
And  ranging  o'er  the  lofty  plain, 
Where  oft  the  bold  projecting  brow 
Gave  fleeting  glimpse  of  Lake  below. 


43 


from  rest, 
Jrest, 
'  dew, 


/e 


Thus  grew  and  died  the  toilsome  day, 
And  night  had  darken'd  o'er  the  way, 
When,  rising  on  my  full  career, 
Niag'ra's  waters  struck  the  ear. 
Soon  on  those  Heights  my  feet  were  stay'd, 
Where  first  its  mighty  plunge  was  made — * 
(So  spoke  Kaskaskia's  tale  of  times 
When  Erie's  race  first  won  these  climes,) 
By  yawning  gulf  now  sever'd  wide. 
Where  darkly  rolls  its  present  tide. 
In  broken  whirlpools  sweeping  by, 
Still  fainter  murm'ring  as  they  fly, 
Till  on  the  distant  plain  they  cease 
And  seek  the  Lake  in  limpid  peace. 


/ 


*  It  is  a  generally  received  hypotiiesis,  that  tlie  Falls  of 
Niagara  began  their  retrogression  at  the  Heights  of  Queens- 
ton. 


^igpi^W 


44 


ONTWA. 


From  scenes  below,  now  wrapp'd  in  night, 
Slight  gleams  broke  quiv'ring  on  my  sight, 
And  myriad  sounds,  like  distant  hum, 
By  fits  upon  the  ear  would  come  ; 
While  gazing  still,  soft  slumbers  stole 
On  wearied  limbs  and  anxious  soul. 


iV;    ( 


The  dreaming  world  before  me  spread, 

And  onward  still  I  seem'd  to  tread  : 

Till  arrows,  sped  with  every  breath, 

Mad  closed  my  path  with  wounds  and  death  ; 

When  lo  !  a  form,  of  brighter  hue 

Than  Indian  vision  ever  knew, 

Threw  round  a  shield  of  snowy  charm 

And  turn'd  aside  the  threat'ning  harm. 

1  knelt  to  worship  ;  but  methought 

Her  face  the  beams  of  morning  caught, 

And,  gath'ring  still  increasing  rays. 

Soon  shone  in  all  the  sun's  broad  blaze ! 

I  woke, — and  saw  the  risen  sun 

Already  high  his  course  had  run : 

Springing  elastic  from  the  ground, 

I  gazed  in  doubt  and  wonder  *round  ! 

And  still  with  partly  dreaming  eyes 

Look'd  on  the  plain,  the  stream  and  skies. 


^: 


i. 


» 

-it 


ONTWA. 


45 


But  soon  was  fix'd  my  wand'ring  glance 
On  far  Ontario's  broad  expanse — 
Like  polish'd  wall,  half  raised  on  high, 
Leaning  against  the  hollow  sky. 
There  burst  Kaskaekia's  dream  to  view. 
The  dream  inspired  by  Manitou  ! 
On  Michi-saki's  point  arose 
The  smokes  of  Erie's  thousand  foes  ; 
Then  were  the  barks,  still  plying  o'er, 
Confusedly  crowding  on  the  shore. 
Till  all  the  strand,  like  swarming  hive, 
With  hum  and  tumult  seem'd  alive. 
High  o'er  the  rest,  a  lofty  smoke 
The  fire  of  Saranac  bespoke  ; 
Where  fancy  pictured  forth  his  form. 
Like  Areouski  mid  the  storm, 
Gath'ring  his  bolts,  to  wreak  his  ire 
On  Erie's  race  and  Ontwa's  sire. 


How  fired  my  spirit  at  the  sight ! 
And  plunging  down  the  lofty  Height, 
Soon  from  its  base,  my  winged  speed 
Was  sweeping  through  the  wood  and  mead. 
The  wily  scout  was  often  seen. 
Winding  his  way  through  thickets  green, 


( 


1„ 


h  \ 


\ 


i: 


46  ONTWA. 

To  make  that  lofty  Height  his  stand  ; 

Whence  he  might  spy  approaching  band. 

Soon  grew  the  nearer  tumult  loud, 

Of  jarring  sounds  and  bustling  crowd, 

And  every  noise  that  met  the  ear 

Gave  signal  that  the  camp  was  near. 

I  hasten'd  on,  through  deeper  shade 

By  interwoven  tree-tops  made. 

Where  grass,  uncheck'd  by  with'ring  heat, 

Grew  green  and  rank  about  the  feet ; 

And  alders,  on  the  border  side. 

Like  verdant  fringe,  hung  o'er  the  tide, 

Leaving  the  upward  glancing  ray 

Amid  their  leaves  a  broken  play — 

Which,  as  it  downward  gleam'd,  in  vain 

Had  strived  an  ent'ring  pass  to  gain. 

Half  ling'ring  to  enjoy  the  scene. 

The  grateful  shade  and  flow'ry  green. 

And  half  to  dress  my  heron  crest 

Which  hasty  march  had  slight  depress'd — 

I  loiter'd  through  the  fair  retreat, 

As  if  some  charm  detained  my  feet ; 

When  lo !  on  bed  of  roses  there, 

A  form,  like  bright  Hahunah*  fair, 

*  The  Indian  word  for  morning. 


\ 
'  1    I 

! 


m 


I. 


i 


ONTWA. 


47 


In  slumber  broke  upon  my  sight ! 
Was  it  my  dreaming  vision  bright  ? 
Or,  spirit  sent  from  liquid  cave 
Beneath  Ontario's  shining  wave, 
To  guide  the  favour'd  Saranac 
O'er  the  far  billows  of  his  track  ? 

Her  raven  hair,  half  wreath'd,  descended, 
And  o'er  her  face  like  shadows  blended ; 
Half  veiling  charms  of  fairer  hue 
Than  ever  forest  daughter  knew. 
Such  locks  ne'er  deck'd  the  desert  child  ! 
Ne'er  bloom'd  such  cheeks  in  forest  wild  ! 
Not  that  the  skin  of  doe  or  fawn 
That  o'er  her  fairer  neck  is  drawn. 
And  all  the  rising  breast  conceals, 
Which  Erie's  daughter  half  reveals. 
Trembling,  as  in  my  dream  I  knelt. 
And  all  the  awe  of  worship  felt : — 
"  Bright  spirit  of  the  air  or  deep ! 
Let  Ontwa  guard  thy  morning  sleep. 
This  wild  rose,  blooming  o'er  thy  rest, 
I'll  pluck  to  decorate  thy  breast ; 
That  kind  propitious  sweets  may  bear 
My  name  to  visions  rising  there." 


iK  iK-t  i^i!.  ii^i^-a^^ietm 


\\ 


} 


) 


\ 


t', 


K 


I 


\ 


\\\ 


i\      !       1 


I. 


i     \ 


-«, 


■k 


^S-t"i«iMi  I  '  *>  ^. 


48  ONTWA. 

I  gazed,  enchain'd  by  powerful  spell, 

Till  bow  and  dart  forgotten  fell. 

And  Erie  and  invading  host 

Were  all  in  one  deep  feeling  lost. 

1  watch'd  the  closing  of  her  dreams 

To  catch  her  eye's  first  opening  beams*. 

The  long  dark  lashes  slowly  rose, 

As  all  unwilling  to  disclose 

The  light  beneath  :  so  fringed  height 

Oft  gives  delay  to  morning's  light. 

They  broke, — but  oh  !  'twere  vain, — how  faint 

Were  tints  the  gleam  of  star  to  paint ! 

What  wonder,  that  my  forest  eye 

Should  deem  her  spirit  of  the  sky  ? 

Or,  doubt  that  the  red  Indian's  earth 

Could  give  such  shining  beauties  birth  ? 

My  youthful  ear  had  heard  of  race, 

With  form  enrobed  and  snowy  face, 

Which,  coming  from  the  rising  sun, 

O'er  all  the  morning  world  had  run  ; 

But  Ontwa  never  knew  their  blood 

Had  beat  in  hearts  that  roved  the  wood, 

Nor  that  their  fairer  hues  had  shed 

Their  lustre  o'er  our  shadowy  red. 


.r  -^ 


OXTWA. 


49 


pell, 


ns 
earns. 


ht 


— how  faint 
tl 


h? 


i, 


I  Siiifl  like  (lawn  her  slumbers  pass'd, 
Hilt  soon  that  dawn  was  overcast ; 
The  smile,  her  happy  dreams  had  left. 
By  terror  was  at  once  bereft — 
At  sight  of  bold  intruder  there, 
Of  stranger  mien  and  frenzied  air. 
Like  frighted  doe,  with  sudden  start. 
She  seized  her  ready  bow  and  dart. 
And  drawing  home  the  feathery  guard. 
Half  turned,  as  if  for  flight  prepared : 
The  plumed  death  a  moment  stay'd, 
A  moment  was  the  flight  delay'd,     : 
When,  kneeling  still — "  Ah  !  stay,"  I  cried, 
"  Blest  spirit  of  the  air  or  tide,  . 

Nor  thus  in  angry  terror  shun    ;  :  , 
Ontwa,  the  Chief  of  Erie's  son  : 
Bearing  proud  message  from  my  race 
To  Saranac,  my  erring  pace 
Intruded  on  thy  slumbers  sweet; 
I  knelt  in  homage  at  thy  feet. 
And  pluck'd  a  wild  rose  o'er  thy  head 
And  on  thy  breast  its  odours  spread. 
Propitious  visions  to  inspire 
For  Ontwa's  race  and  Ontwa's  sire." 
7 


4   *| 


f      1 


i- , 


•  ■^  ',■  Jfci8iap»i--v.„ 


\ 


I  • 

,1 

( 

I 


w 


iih 


,!• 


i 


I 


1 


I      ( 


60  ONTWA. 

Her  eye  no  longer  bore  a  frown, 
Her  how,  reliix'd,  wiis  sinking  down. 
And  in  relenting  pau!*e  she  stood — 
When  arrow,  sent  from  neighh'ring  wood, 
Half  erring,  sped  its  ambush'd  harm 
And  qiiiver'd  in  my  hleeding  arm.     ■"      ' 
She  sprang,  she  knelt,  and  as  she  drew 
The  reeking  barb  and  feather  through, 
Her  shining  hair  swept  o'er  my  breast — 
Her  hand  upon  my  shoulder  prest — 
Her  cheek  came  near  :  What  then  was  pain. 
My  wilder'd  feelings  to  restrain  ? — 
Ontwa  had  torment  learnt  to  bear,     •  ■■  .. 
But  ne'er  had  look'd  on  cheek  so  fair : 
What  wonder  then,  the  tempting  bliss 
My  lips  should  seize  with  daring  kiss  ? 

To  draw  the  dart  with  pitying  speed, 

And  rise  again  at  daring  deed, 

And  turn  with  proud  reproachful  look — 

Of  time  but  briefest  moment  took  ; 

That  moment  past,  the  bowman  came 

To  follow  up  his  arrow's  aim — 

A  Chief  of  loftv  gait  and  mien 

With  hasty  steps  approach'd  the  scene. 


V 


y 


v 


■'^^■^.,. 


i 


ONTWA. 


51 


iown, 
J— 

^'ns  wood, 
larin 
1.  ■,. 

5  drew 
'ougb, 
'Feast — . 

^  was  pain, 


fiiir: 

liss 

88? 


I. 


"  What  foot  huH  dared  in  riliinibVing  hour 

To  steid  within  Oneyda's  bower  ?  ,  .-. 

Let  second  arrow  truer  fly —    . . 

Thy  stranger  pinme  speaks  lurking  t^py."  . 

The  bow  was  fiercely  bent  again — 

Aad  barb  drawn  back  with  nervous  strain — 

When  sudden  slacks  the  vengeful  draught, 

Lest  loved  Oneyda  feel  the  shaft ; 

For  then,  just  ere  the  arrow  flew, 

In  generous  haste,  her  form  she  threw, 

To  beg  her  father's  warrior  bow, 

Would  spare  the  blood  of  kneeling  foe. 

But  Ontwa  was  not  kneeling  then, — 

Though  all  too  late  my  bow  had  been 

To  check  the  Chief's  impetuous  dart. 

Whose  truet  flight  had  reach'd  my  heart 

Had  not  the  form,  my  vision  gave. 

Been  hov'ring  near  my  life  to  save. 

•  «  « 

Beneath  an  elm,  whose  spreading  top 
Around  like  curtains  seem'd  to  drop, 
Sate  Saranac — while,  on  the  ground 
His  myriad  followers  closed  around  :    , 
First  aged  chiefs,  then  warriors  I  )ld. 
Then  youths  allow'd  their  place  to  hold  ; 


J^^0^ 


II 


* 


,1 


.  ^ 


I 


■  \ 


ir 


52  ONTWA. 

While  women,  cliildrnn,  further  Htill, 
All  Join  the  rirclitiK  group  to  fill — 
Where  Hhaveri  head,  and  fcathcrM  crest, 
And  bow  and  club  for  battle  dresriM, 
Of  every  form  and  hue  appear, 
Like  leaves  that  deck  the  dying  year. 
Within  thiH  ring  was  Ontwa  led 
Already  doom'd  to  join  the  dead  ; 
CondemnM,  by  lingering  pangs  to  die, 
As  sentence  due  to  lurking  spy. 
Stern  Sarannc,  in  haughty  gloom. 
Sate  while  a  chief  proclaimed  my  doom  ; 
The  fair  Oneyda  leaning  near, 
Ah  if  to  ask  a  pitying  ear, 
Bending  her  beauties  o'er  his  form, 
Like  sunshine  on  the  brow  of  storm. 


Ere  yet  the  guards  had  seized  their  prey, 
While  mercy  seem'd  to  ask  delay, 
I  raised  my  blood-stain'd  pledge  on  high 
And  cried — "  No  spy,  stern  chief,  am  L 
From  great  Kaskaskin,  Ontwa's  sire, 
I  bnng  this  pledge  of  Erie's  ire."    . 


•'  Kaskaskia's  son !  take  back  thy  life — 
To  lose  it  in  a  nobler  strife. 


-iJlfV^  t 


^%ii 


tl,.>•■'•^■., 


■■*--_■  -J'-- 1* 


J*«*Ji-a.,_ 


ONTWA. 


M 


We  come  from  other  climen  alar, 
New  lanitx  to  fieek  tor  chaxe  utui  wur  : 
Once  on  a  Lake,  whone  lesser  sweep 
Lies  lix'd  in  mountain  basin  deep  ;* 
Where  green  and  lofty  peaks  arise 
Till  Mended  with  the  deep  blue  skies, 
Long  shuttinji;  out  the  morning  ray 
FVom  waters  that  beneath  them  lay  ; 
liaised  Saranac  his  hundred  fires 
Amid  the  ashes  of  his  sires. 
But  mightier  race  than  ours  has  come 
And  driven  us  from  our  ancient  home, 
Where  forest's  bow — of  game  despoiPd 
That  seeks  afar  securer  wild — 
And  hill  and  plain,  no  more  possess 
The  charm  and  sport  of  wilderness. 
Not  weak  we  come  ;  thou  dost  behold 
But  half  our  chiefs  and  warriors  bold. 
No  breeze  now  stirs  on  yon  blue  Lake, 
That  does  not  moving  barks  overtake. 
All  plying  fast  the  sail,  or  oar, 
To  gain  this  designated  shore  : 
When  all  are  come — prepared  for  fight. 
We  hold  our  course  up  yonder  Height, 

*  Lake  Champlain. 


»..*^^i(4^.^i.ai,*^^ 


■»».«  ->f.^c  *s^  »■■■ 


54 


ONTWA. 


Where,  should  the  Eries  sue  for  peace. 
Our  hostile  march  perchance  may  cease. — 
A  warrior  shall  attend  thee  out 
To  guard  thee  safe  beyond  our  scout." 

"  No  guard  does  Ontwa  want,  nor  guide  ; 
With  bow  and  quiver  by  my  side,     .     .;-  i 
And  step  all  used  to  forest  maze, 
My  march  shall  mock  thy  scout's  keen  gaze 
Ere  yon  bright  sun  again  shall  rise   , 
And  light  anew  the  eastern  skies, 
Drinking  the  dew-drop  on  the  flower 
Shed  there  by  evening's  viewless  shower, 
Ontwa  the  feast  and  dance  will  share. 
Which  Erie's  warriors  now  prepare  ; 
Whose  games  such  deadly  thirst  shall  wake 
As  blood  of  foe  alone  can  slake."      ..    ,. 


•  i{., 


Then  had  my  course,  with  sudden  bound. 
Been  speeding  far  from  foeman's  ground. 
And  vainly  through  the  thicket  wood 
By  step  or  vision  been  pursued  ; 
When,  like  a  deer  whose  ready  start 
Is  check'd  by  arrow  through  the  heart. 
Half  turn'd  I  stay'd,  fix'd  by  the  eye 
Of  fair  Oneyda  hov'ring  nigh. — 


'^'^w**. 


■.»!"  li»<iVi.»«B>»*-<i 


■i.nHliiiW»M<i»li'   '  » 


ONTWA. 


56 


A  glance  withheld  my  daring  soul 
And  all  my  winged  purpose  stole  : 
No  more  the  image  of  my  dream, 
Which  fancy  might  &  spirit  deem, 
I  saw  her  now  of  mortal  birth,  ■ 
Though  fairest  child  of  Indian  earth, 
And  felt  a  new  and  throbbing  heat 
Through  every  quick  pulsation  beat. 
'Twas  the  same  throb  that  shook  my  breast 
When  first  I  watch'd  her  dreaming  rest ; 
But  then  methought  that  throb  was  given 
To  spirit  of  the  wave  or  heaven. 


What  though  a  thousand  warriors  stood,  • 
Ready  to  spill  presumptuous  blood. 
Whose  stranger  love  should  dare  disgrace 
The  pride  and  blossom  of  their  race  ? 
I  turn'd  and  knelt — and  as  I  gazed. 
Saw  not  the  myriad  weapons  raised 
To  pierce  my  heart, — the  threat'ning  harm 
Was  check 'd  but  by  Oneyda's  arm, 
That  waved  in  pity  o'er  my  form 
And  stay'd  midway  the  bursting  storm. — 
'Twas  but  a  moment's  bliss  I  felt, 
'Twas  but  a  moment  that  I  knelt — 


^  A 

i 


.; 


56  ONTWA. 

I  saw  the  anguish  of  her  eye, 

The  tender  fear  that  bade  me  fly, 

And  wildly  seizing,  as  I  pass'd, 

One  short  embrace — then  deem'd  the  last- 

Ere  sire  could  turn,  or  throng  rush  on, 

Ontwu,  like  lightning's  flash,  was  gone. 


ii  1 


ONTWA. 

PART  IV. 

<  Morn,  through  her  arched  gates  of  light. 
Now  foUow'd  up  the  shadow's  flight, 
And  shed  from  ruddy  clouds  a  glow 
That  gilded  wood  and  lake  below  ; 
When  o..  *nj  sight  all  dimly  broke 
The  gii  'f  distant  tent  and  smoke. 

The  rt^  .  iiill  uprose  in  vain, 
And  vainly  spread  the  lengthen'd  plain. 
To  check  my  fleet  and  eager  way  : 
Then,  as  the  sun's  first  level  ray 
Burst  on  Kaskaskia's  waking  view. 
That  ray  presented  Ontwa  too. 
He  calmly  heard  my  errand  done — 
Unmoved  he  saw  the  peril  run  ; 
For  stern  composure,  full  of  thought, 
Had  to  his  mien  submission  taught, 
8 


:} 


.»  —  ^    i»^ 


{ 


68 


ONTWA. 


And  bliss  or  woe  pass'd  o'er  his  mind, 
Nor  light  nor  shadow  left  behind  : 
Or  if  his  iron  forehead  e'er 
Betray'd  a  feeling  less  severe, 
'Twas  like  the  wintry  sun's  faint  glow 
That  leaves  more  hard  the  front  of  snow. 

Now  gathers  round  the  warlike  throng, 
Prepared  for  feast  and  dance  and  song. 
The  fire  awakes  and  curls  on  high, 
And  whoops  ascend  the  hollow  sky, 
While  many  a  faithful  Aleem*  bleeds 
To  fit  the  soul  for  battle  deeds. 
A  hundred  warriors  now  advance, 
All  dress'd  and  painted  for  the  dance  .; 
And  sounding  club  and  hollow  skin 
A  slow  and  measured  time  begin  : 
With  rigid  limb  and  sliding  foot, 
And  murmurs  low,  the  time  to  suit, 
Forever  varying  with  the  sound, 
The  circling  band  movts  'round  and  'round. 
Now  slowly  rise  the  swelling  notes, 
When  every  crest  more  lively  floats, 

*  The  Hog :  an  animal  that  is  sacrificed  and  eaten  on 
every  solemn  occasion. 


Ml  I 


ONTWA. 


5U 


Now  toss'd  on  high  with  gesture  proud, 
Then  lowly  mid  the  circle  bow'd ; 
While  cliinging  arms  grow  louder  still, 
And  every  voice  becomes  move  shrill. 
Till  fierce  and  strong  the  clamour  grows 
And  the  wild  war-whoop  bids  it  close. 
Then  starts  Shuuktonga  forth,  whose  band 
Came  far  from  Huron's  storm-beat  strand, 
And  thus  recounts  his  battle  feats. 
While  his  dark  club  the  measure  beats  :* 

'•  At  fall  of  leaf,  o'er  Huron's  wave 
Came  party  of  the  Saukies  brave, 
Far  from  the  mighty  Turtle's!  isle. 
And,  stealing  on  our  tribe  with  guile. 
When  hunter's  arm  and  bow  were  gone 
And  wives  and  children  left  alone. 
Seized  on  the  weak  and  helpless  prey, 
And  bore  them,  weeping  slaves,  away. 

■•'■  Shuuktonga,  from  the  hunt  returning, 
Found  all  were  gone,  and  wigwams  burning. 
And  deep  revenge  he  swore. 


*  At  tlie  Indian  feasts,  when  a  dunce  is  couclmled,  some 
warrior  starts  up  and  recounts  a  battle  feat,  of  which  the  nar- 
rator is  always  the  hero. 

t  Michi-mackinac  means  great  Turtle. 


60 


ONTWA. 


M 


:'^    '♦ 


Through  thirty  suns  and  thirty  sleeps, 
At  lonehest  glens  and  highest  steeps 
Severest  fast  he  bore. 

'*  Then  on  the  ground  his  mat  he  spread, 

And  raised  aloil  his  signal  red, 

And  call'd  on  all  whose  hearts  had  bled. 

To  string  the  vengeful  bow  ; 
That  Saukies'  blood  might  quench  the  flamo. 
Which  long  had  burnt  to  tell  their  shame 

And  triumph  of  the  foe. 

"  O'er  ice  and  snow  we  bore  the  war  ; 
The  isle's  white  summit,  gleaming  far 
Long  after  day  had  sunk  to  rest, 
Was  raising  high  its  yellow  crest 

To  lead  us  on  our  way  : 
The  night  was  midway  riding  o'er, 
When  reach'd  our  files  its  lofty  shore : 
Through  knotted  trees,  along  the  brink, 
Where  sliding  foot  would  often  shrink, 
And  threat'uing  rocks  and  yawning  arch* 
Would  oft  delay  the  cautious  march, 

Our  silent  pathway  lay. 


*  The  "  arched  rock"  on  the  island  of  Michi-niackiiiac, 
is  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  iiitcrosling;  curiosities  of  the 
country  of  tiie  Lakes. 


I|> 


I      i 

i  I 


^W 


-it 


ONTWA. 


(31 


"  Beneath  the  brink,  the  Saukies  Hlept. 
No  watchful  eye  the  sentry  kept, 

E'en  Aleem'd  bark  was  dumb  ! 
We  hung  on  high — no  spirit  seem'd 
To  tell  them,  as  they  sweetly  dream'd, 

The  vengeful  foe  is  come ! 

"  The  morning  broke  ;  i*ui  Sac       9  eye 
Ne'er  look'd  s^ain  on  dappled  sky — 
For  every  heart  that  beat  at  eve, 
Ere  dawning  light,  had  ceased  to  heave  ; 
And  not  a  tongue  was  left  to  tell. 
How  Saukies  fought  or  Saukies  fell." 

Shuuktonga  ceased  : — In  murmuring  strain, 
The  circling  dance  began  again  ; 
And  when  the  whoop  proclaim'd  its  close, 
Catawba,  midst  the  clamour,  rose. 
From  Erie's  shore,  where  islands  spread 
Like  wampum  belt  across  its  head. 
He  came, — and  thus,  in  numbers  rude. 
Loudly  the  varying  song  renew'd. 


"  Oft  in  my  youth  I  used  to  take 
Advent' rous  course  across  the  lake. 
From  isle  to  island  plying ; 


69 


ONTWA. 


I- 


t 


,;;  '"  ""'"«  ««^«  or  rocky  nook, 
Where  billon,  never  roli'd  its  way 
%  'ight  canoe  would  find  a  bay,   '  . 

And  all  in  peace  be  lying. 

^What  led  n,e  o'er  the  distant  wave? 

Wi-t  led  ^ethuMhestorn,  to  brave? 
^was  UnadilJa's  love 

^ia-i's  Chief,  her  warlike  sire, 
Received  me  at  his  friendly  fire, 

And  did  my  suit  approve. 

j'l^sought  her  on  the  rocky  cliff, 

Where  she  was  wont  to  watch  my  skiff 
f>kimmmg  the  waters  fleets 

And  where,  with  ornaments  and  skin 
^She  now  prepared  the  mockasin 

To  deck  Catawba's  feet. 

"  *  '*'*'^  «'«ng.  with  silent  pace 

And  paused  a  momentjust  to  trace      ., 

Her  features  through  the  shade, 
When,  rushing  from  the  other  side     • 
A  youth,  array'd  in  warhke  pride,  ' 

H.S  bold  appearance  made. 


ONTWA. 


63 


"  With  eager  joy  and  greeting  warm 
I  saw  him  fold  her  yielding  form, — 

My  jealous  brain  turn'd  'round. 
Ere  yet  the  quick  embrace  could  part. 
My  hasty  arrow  pierced  his  heart — 

His  plumage  kiss'd  the  ground. 

"  She  turn'd,  and  saw  the  fatal  bow 
Whose  rashness  laid  the  warrior  low. 

And  cried,  in  anguish  wild, 
•  Ah  !  fly,  Catawba,  fly  the  deed  ; 
Not  unrevenged  can  Waitou  bleed — 
He  was  Miami's  child !' 


"  Already  rush'd  the  impatient  crowd 
To  greet  the  youth,  with  clamours  loud, 

Just  come  from  field  of  fame. 
I  dared  not  seek  a  parting  sigh, 
I  turn'd,  but  not  in  fear — to  fly  : 

I  fled  to  hide  my  shame. 


"  My  lingering  bark,  with  idle  oar. 
Scarce  plied  along  the  rocky  shore — 
Watching  the  jutting  clifi"  above, — 
What  well  known  form  was  seen  to  move  ? 


.. .        ._,^  ,S.i« 


!n«>iiiiiMjii»m^i 


64 


ONTWA. 


'TwaH  Uniulilla's  step  advanced  : 
Around  an  anxious  eye  8he  glanced  ; 
When,  from  a  point,  was  neen  to  shout 
A  bark,  as  if  in  quick  pursuit. 
I  heeded  not  its  fast  approach — 
I  saw  her  foot  too  far  encroach, 

As  if  to  urge  my  flight : 
Methought  the  crumbling  rock  gave  way — 
Kind  Manitou  the  ruin  stay  ! — 

I  closed  my  aching  sight. 

•'  The  crash  and  plunge  in  silence  died — 
The  rippling  wave  spread  far  and  wide, 
At  last  my  distant  bark  it  shook; 
I  raised  my  head  with  trembling  look — 

And  all  was  calm  again. 
All  thoughtless  of  pursuer's  course, 
I  darted  off  with  frantic  force, 

As  if  to  fly  from  pain. 

*'  My  single  arm  an  isle  had  near'd, 
Before  the  stronger  bark  appear'd, 

Driven  on  with  foaming  speed  : 
'Twas  then,  with  lagging  strength,  my  mind 
First  waked  to  peril  yet  behind. 

And  roused  to  sense  of  heed. 


W 


\\\ 


\> 


IMM 


HH 


ONTWA. 


C5 


"  I  urged  my  way  round  rocky  cape, 
By  Hheltering  bay  to  make  escape, 
And,  ere  their  bark  my  skiff  could  reach, 
Its  lighter  prow  had  struck  the  beach, 

And  1  was  in  the  wood. 
In  vengeful  haste  through  thicket  shade. 
O'er  swelling  knoll  and  rocky  glade. 

My  steps  were  close  pursued. 

"  Fast  gain'd  they  on  my  failing  pace — 
Like  hunters  urging  on  the  chase. 

More  near  became  their  bound  ; 
When  on  my  path,  a  refuge  cave* 
Yawn'd  wide,  as  if  a  wretch  to  save, — 

I  plunged  beneath  the  ground  : 
The  cloven  rocks  a  passage  gave 

Within  the  dark  profound, 

Where  died  away  each  passing  sound. 

"  I  sank  on  moist  and  rocky  bed ; 

To  dreaming  lands  my  spirit  fled, 

And  left  behind  its  grief, — 


*  There  is  a  cave  in  the  island  of  Put-in-Baj,  which  has 
been  the  subject  of  much  admiration,  on  account  of  its  di- 
mensions and  beautiful  stalactites. 

9 


■  ■^jyT'^^W^KPfflW**^" ' 


[t 


60 


ONTWA. 


A^ain  my  UniHlilln  lived, — 
And  smiled  aj^ain,  \m  non  revived — 
The  old  Miami  Chief. 

'*  But  oh !  what  horrors  when  I  woke ! 
No  glenm  of  li^ht  around  me  hroke — 

'Twua  thickeut  darkneHH  all ; 
And  naught  di^turh'd  the  Hilence  deep 
That  through  the  cavern  held  its  sleep, 
Save  mournful  drops,  the  roof  might  weep. 

Scarce  sounding  in  their  full. 


"  Catawba  was  not  used  to  quake, 
But  Uving  death  like  this  might  shake 
The  stoutest  heart :  1  sought  some  ray 
That  might  reveal  the  entering  way  ; 
Through  many  a  chasm  and  lengthened  arch 
1  groped  in  wild  and  desperate  search, 
Now  stumb?'  ig  o'er  the  brittle  stones 
Crumbling  at  touch  like  mouldering  bones. 
Now  falling  in  some  silent  stream 
Ne'er  known  to  breeze  or  daylight  besun — * 

*  At  the  end  of  the  cave  nlhidcd  to,  there  b  a  little  basin 
of  water,  so  pellucid  and  iniperturbably  clear,  as  scarcely  to 
appear  distinct  from  the  incumbent  atmosphere :  it  is  only 
when  a  pebble  or  other  thing  is  thrown  into  it,  that  the  illusion 
vanishes. 


ONTWA. 


07 


Till  hopclfliiii,  raint  anil  frnntic  grown. 
1  luid  my  wearied  body  down 

In  deep  and  rulm  despnir. 
I  cnird  on  death — when  oh !  methoii|<;ht 
My  bare  and  I'everM  lionom  caiight 

Some  breath  of  upper  air  ! 
I  moved — and  ooon  a  glimmering  ray 
Led  back  my  eteps  again  to  day." 

Catawba  ceased. — And  thus  the  song 
And  dance  and  feaHt  the  hourN  prolong. 
Each  Chief  hia  wild  adventure  told 
In  hunt,  in  love,  or  battle  bold ; 
And  daylight,  rolling  down  the  heaven, 
Had  touch'd  the  forest-brow  of  even, 
When  rose  Kaskaskia  from  his  place, 
And  caird  to  arnu  the  Erie  race. 
The  revels  sunk  :  Each  bow  wa^  strung. 
And  quiver  o'er  each  shoulder  dung, 
And  every  Chief,  in  warlike  mood. 
Before  his  warriors  ready  stood — 
Their  gay  crests  tossing  mid  the  green, 
As  foam  upon  the  dark  waves  seen. 
At  tirst  led  ofl"  the  wily  scout ; 
When  every  band  took  up  its  route 


•MMm 


te  ^m**  r«m;«*-ii  M^w 


68 


ONTVVA. 


1  r 


In  single  line,  with  heedful  pace, 
Leaving  behind  no  treacherous  trace 
On  bough  or  bush  or  bending  grass 
That  might  reveal  the  secret  pass. — 
Thus  fled  the  night.     No  sound  betray 'd 
That  thousands  march'd  beneath  its  shade  ; 
And  mildly  shone  the  moon  and  stars. 
As  earth  were  sleeping  free  from  wars. 
The  march  was  stay'd  at  brightening  dawn. 
Far  in  the  forest's  depths  withdrawn, — 
All,  save  the  scouts,  in  stillness  lay. 
Till  night  again  conceal'd  the  way. 


The  moon  had  gone,  and  darkest  hour 

Had  lost  already  half  its  power, 

And  faintest  gleam,  like  scouting  spy, 

Was  stealing  up  the  morning  sky, 

When  foremost  Chief  deep  sounds  could  hear 

That  spoke  Niag'ra's  thunders  near. 

At  once,  a  note,  that  foe  would  deem 

Naught  but  the  night-bird's  piercing  scream. 

Was  heard  afar :  at  signal  sound. 

Each  Chief  and  warrior  sunk  to  ground, 

When  every  leaf  return'd  to  rest, 

And  sprung  no  more  the  grass  depress'd, 


ONTWA. 


69 


And  stillness  trembled  through  the  air — 
As  never  man  had  trampled  there. 

'Twas  Ontwa  now  advanced  alone  : 

To  him  the  foeman's  look  was  known  ; 

And,  skill'd  in  signs  of  forest  track — 

The  grass  bent  down — the  twigs  thrown  back, — 

To  him  was  given  the  task  to  trace 

The  foeman's  path  and  lurking  place. — 

With  wreath  of  leaves  twined  round  my  brow, 

To  look  like  waving  bush  or  bough, 

I  stole  along  : — as  day  advanced, 

A  keener  gaze  around  was  glanced 

That  far  through  thickest  foliage  sees, 

While  my  quick  ear  caught  every  breeze, 

Till  passing  sounds  were  heard  no  more. 

Lost  in  Niagara's  swelling  roar. 

Soon,  as  I  stood  in  covert  dark 

An  opening  in  the  wood  to  mark, 

Methought  I  saw  a  foeman  spy, 

'Mongst  skirting  trees,  pass  swiftly  by  : 

I  watch'd  his  step — full  near  he  came, 

When  true  was  made  my  arrow's  aim  : 

He  fell : — and,  with  his  signal  crest 

And  well-known  arms  and  wampum  drest. 


^-*- 


70 


ONTWA. 


I  launch'd  again  on  bolder  route, 
Secure  to  pass  for  foeman's  scout. 


,?! 


Soon  on  the  wood-crown'd  plain  and  height, 

I  caught  of  foe  imperfect  sight, 

Deep  hid  by  mask  of  boughs  and  leaves 

That  all  but  keenest  eye  deceives. 

Then  unsuspected  here  and  there, 

I  hover'd  round  their  secret  lair, — 

Noted  each  glade,  recess,  and  path 

That  might  conduct  the  battle's  wrath, 

And  give  direction  or  disguise 

To  bold  attack  or  dark  surprise  : 

Then  dofling  arms  and  crest  of  slain, 

Triumphant  darted  back  again. 

'  Poor  scout,'  I  said — '  my  dart  laid  low — 

Long  thy  return  may  wait  the  foe, 

And  while  they  chide  thy  lagging  pace, 

Vengeance  may  reach  their  lurking  place — 

And  Erie  come,  by  Ontwa  led. 

Through  paths  thy  fallen  crest  betray'd.' 


Now  woke  Kaskaskia's  signal  sound —  . 
At  once  the  warriors  rise  around  : 
He  bade  them  wreath  their  brows  with  green 
That  they  might  ape  the  verdant  scene. 


ONTWA. 


71 


"  No  sound  will  wake  the  foeman's  ear, 
Fill'd  with  Niag'ra'8  thunderii  near ; 
And  still  inactive  they  may  lie 
Waiting  their  slow  returning  spy. 
Who,  low  by  Ontwa's  arrow  laid, 
Now  sleeps  at  rest  in  yonder  glade. 
Their  coverts  reach'd,  let  bush  or  tree 
The  ambush  of  each  Erie  be, 
Till  wily  whoop  shall  cause  the  foe. 
Thoughtless  of  harm,  his  crests  to  show. 
Then,  when  from  lurking  place  they  rise 
And  stand  unmask'd  before  our  eyes. 
Let  then  the  feather'd  vengeance  wake, 
And  every  dart  its  victim  take  ; 
And  lest  some  barb  should  vainly  speed, 
Let  the  dark  club  pursue  the  deed — 
Till  every  spot  where  foeman  stood 
Shall  bear  a  corpse,  and  float  in  blood. 
Know,  the  triumphant  hour  is  nigh  ; 
For  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  sky, 
As  he  rush'd  by  amid  the  storm, 
Did  thus  Kaskaskia's  soul  inform  : 
Never  shall  Erie  lose  the  field, 
Wliilefoe  shall  desert  weapon  wield.^'' 


1    <f 


72 


ONTWA. 


i      ' 


Lh  1 


h  ..i 


The  star  of  day  was  just  descending, 

Its  lustre  still  to  vapours  lending 

That  high  above  Niag'ra  hung, 

And  down  reflected  brightness  flung 

On  dark  abyss  and  forest  shade. 

And  twilight  in  its  inarch  delayed  ; 

When,  all  unseen,  the  Erie  bands 

Had  seized  their  close  and  ambushM  stands, 

And  lowly  crouchM  with  listening  ear. 

Waiting  the  signal  whoop  to  hear. — 

The  pause  was  deep, — and,  save  the  roar 

Of  rumbling  waters  tumbling  o'er 

The  torrent's  steep,  no  sound  was  heard 

That  aught  the  calm  of  twilight  stirr'd. 

At  last  the  whoop  deceptive  rose — 
At  once  leap'd  up  a  thousand  foes 
From  tree  and  bush  and  lowly  shrub, 
With  bended  bow,  and  lifted  club. 
Casting  around  an  anxious  eye. 
As  asking — whence  the  battle-cry  ? 
From  viewless  bows,  a  plumed  shower 
Burst  forth  from  covert  shade  and  bower, 
As  if  each  leaf,  by  sudden  art. 
Had  been  transform'd  to  barbed  dart, 


rm,.4i»MMv«. 


ONTWA. 


73 


And  Berce  and  fatal  answer  sped, 
That  laid  full  many  a  foeman  dead. 
As  peal  succeeds  the  lightning's  flash, 
So  sudden  burst  the  battle's  crash  : 
With  direst  whoop,  from  ambush'd  place. 
On  rush'd  the  vengeful  Erie  race  ; 
And,  ere  the  dart  had  spent  its  force 
Pursued  with  club  its  bloody  course — 
Renewing  oft  the  mortal  blow 
On  rising  and  on  sinking  foe  ; 
Till  every  crest  was  seen  to  stoop, 
That  rose  to  view  at  wily  whoop. 

Then  died  the  tumult  of  the  flght. 
The  moon  look'd  down  with  broken  light. 
And  fitful  shone  on  victor  crest, 
And,  vanquish'd,  sunk  in  dreamless  rest ; 
While  rose  anew  Niag'ra's  jar, 
As  if  to  fill  the  pause  of  war. 
Lies  every  foeman  bleeding  there  ? — 
Or  whence  the  whoops  that  rend  the  air  ! 
'Tis  Saranac,  with  mightier  host, 
Who  comes — unfelt  the  thousands  lost — 
To  wake  again  the  battle's  rage. 
On,  on  we  rush — again  engage! 
10 


-^  ■\.^V.-A 


■'iww'i.i      


BCda^ 


74 


ONTVVA. 


\      ( 


This  was  no  wavering,  yielding  fray, 
Ttiat  wounds  and  blood  might  soon  allay; 
'Twas  conHict  fierce — now  deadly  grown— 
Whose  fury  death  could  end  alone. — 
While  the  full  quiver  gave  its  store, 
The  arrowy  storm  was  seen  to  pour  : 
Then  closed  the  fight  with  deeper  yell, 
And  ponderous  clubs  together  fell. 
And,  while  the  crash  to  crash  succeeds, 
More  deep  the  reeking  battle  bleedc. 
At  last  the  desperate  struggle  came 
Of  vigorous  frame  lock'd  in  with  frame — 
When  closed  the  fierce  and  frantic  grasp. 
That  only  broke  with  life's  last  gasp. 
The  moon  oft  shining  thro'  the  gloom, 
Would  glimpses  give  of  sinking  plume. 
Of  writhing  form,  and  drooping  head. 
And  thousands  cold  on  gory  bed. 
The  clouds  pass'd  off  the  face  of  heaven, 
And  back  the  fainting  foe  was  driven ! 
A  mome  u  stay'd  Kaskaskia's  foot, 
Lest  ambush  wait  the  quick  pursuit, — 
When,  bursting  from  a  viewless  cloud,, 
Qjuick  peals  of  thunder,  sharp  and  loud, 
From  height  behind  the  foemen  broke, 
And  darting  far  its  fatal  stroke — 


■  AMlo^ia.^itt^.. 


ONTWA. 


75 


Like  Areoiiski's  shrouded  wrath, 

S|)read  death  and  terror  o'er  its  jiath. 

Tlie  tremblins;  Eries  shrunk  aghast! 

'Twas  the  Great  Spirit  sent  the  bkst, 

And  bade  them  yiehl  to  foes  the  field 

Who  thus  could  Heaven's  own  thunders  wield.* 

They  sunk  to  earth,  with  fears  subdued  : 

Alone  erect,  Kaskaskia  stood. 

The  moon  beam'd  full  upon  his  brow, 

Of  more  than  mortal  sternness  now. 

While,  kindling  'neath  her  gentle  beam, 

His  eye  sent  back  its  fiercest  gleam, — 

As  it  would  quench  the  light  which  shone 

On  Erie's  greatness  overthrown, — 

Or  ask  the  cloudless  skies,  whence  came 

This  thunder,  wrapp'd  in  smoke  and  flame  ? 

Again  along  the  wood  it  peals  ! — 

Kaskaskia's  lofty  plumage  reels  ! 

Through  unseen  wound,  in  gushing  flood. 

His  ample  breast  sends  forth  its  blood  ; — 

Long  the  red  earth  the  torrent  drinks. 

Ere  yet  that  lofty  plumage  sinks  : 


*  The  inexperienced  savages,  when  they  first  heard  the  re- 
port of  fire-arms,  supposed  those  who  used  them  to  be  more 
than  mortals,  and  made  no  resistance  to  what  they  believed 
to  be  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit. 


-.,«♦'- 


ONTWA. 

At  last  it  fallfn, — like  hanging  rock, 
That  slowly  yields  to  lightning's  shock, 
Till  prop  and  hold  and  all  are  gone, 
Then  sinks,  in  majesty,  alone. 

The  battle  swept  along, — it  pass'd  ; 
And  wearied  carnage  sunk  at  last : 
While,  rising  o'er  the  re'  king  plain, 
Niag'ra  swell'd  his  din  again, 
Hush'd  the  last  groans  the  dying  gave, 
And  rung  o'er  Erie's  bloody  grave. — 
The  morning  came,  and  curving  rays 
Bedeck'd  anew  the  torrent's  huze  : 
But  Erie's  eye  was  quench'd  in  night. 
Save  Ontwa's — none  saw  morning  light  ,- 
A  lonely  captive — spared  to  grace 
The  feast,  of  triumph,  o'er  his  race. 


~"'!*"iiii)im'iTm  trl'i'Mtt'B 


ONTWA. 


PART  V. 


I 


'  The  day  pass'd  o'er  the  scene  of  blood. 
And  night  again  hung  o'er  the  wood  ; 
But  other  scenes  than  strife  and  war 
Now  caught  the  light  of  moon  and  star. 
As  sunk  the  sun,  the  victors  rose, 
Refreshed  by  rest  since  battle's  close, 
And  roused  the  feast  of  sacrifice  : — 
For  with  the  morning  Ontwa  dies. 
Beneath  an  oak,  on  rising  ground, 
Fast  to  the  trunk,  by  osiers  bound. 
The  victim  sat :  while  fierce  and  loud. 
Spread  far  and  near  the  circling  crowd. 
A  central  fire  curl'd  high  in  air, 
And,  darting  'round  a  ruddy  glare, 
Bright  on  the  inner  circle  glow'd. 
The  distant  throng  more  dimly  show'd, 
And  tinged  the  pile  with  gloomy  light 
Which  stood  before  the  captive's  sight — 


i 


i 

4i 


78 


ON  TWA. 


Waiting  but  morn'!)  enkindling  breath, 
To  light  down  OntwaN  8oul  to  death. 


hit    ! 


Sped  on  the  feast  and  revelry  : 

The  dance  oft  wheel'd  around  the  tree, 

The  Haming  brand  was  often  sent, 

And  bow  in  idle  mockery  bent : 

But  naught  the  soul  of  Ontwa  shook — 

He  answer'd  all  with  scornful  look  ; 

And  thus,  amid  the  insulting  throng, 

Raised  high  and  bold  his  victim-song : 

Think  not  Ontwa's  spirit  shaken  ; 
Fear  can  ne'er  a  throb  awaken — 
Though  this  form  be  captive  taken, 

Still  his  soul  is  free. 
All  your  fiery  torments  scorning, 
IMeased  he  sees  the  pile  adorning, 
Which  shall  send  him,  with  the  morning, 

Sire  and  friends  to  see. 

What  though  Erie  low  be  lying — 
And  no  voice  will  e'er  be  crying 
For  revenge  of  Ontwa  dying ! 
Still  his  soul  will  boast : 


s!»«rs!w9~-!*w-t*r''- 


-.•ar.iiii'0 '  Ttrf^^-"*''-^— ■:: 


'1   Tfto 


tm-atm 


ON  TWA. 


79 


Where  yon  vultures  now  «re  ieeding, 
Many  n  foeniHn'a  corse  lies  bleeding;, 
Given  by  Ontwa's  dart  their  speeding  : 
These  revenge  his  ghost. 

Stars  of  heaven  !  why  still  ascending? 
Would  your  lights  were  downward  bending, 
Would  the  shades  of  night  were  ending, 

And  the  day  begun. 
By  delightful  rivers  staying, 
Erie's  gathered  bands  are  straying, 
Chiding  Ontwa's  long  delaying — 

Would  the  night  were  done. 

Thus,  while  around  the  revels  rung, 

My  song  of  death  was  proudly  sung. — 

A  fiery  juice,  by  white  men  given, 

Oft  through  the  feast  and  dance  was  driven, 

And  loud  and  fierce  the  tumult  grew  : 

No  rest  the  forest  echoes  knew 

From  whoop  and  yell,  till  midnight  hour 

Descended  with  its  drowsy  power, 

And  falling  on  the  crowd  around 

Laid  them  in  slumbers  on  the  ground. 

All,  save  the  guard  of  Ontwa,  slept : 

Fi'en  that  but  fitful  watching  kept ; 


[1 


M 


80 


ONTWA. 


And  with  continued  liinKiior  prrst, 
Slink  down,  at  liiHt,  iimong  tlio  rot. 

The  downward  moon  now  gently  shone 
On  Ontwa'M  waking  e^fe  alone. 
The  tire,  unfed,  deHcendcd  low, 
And  Hlied  but  weak  and  tlickering  glow. 
While  Hcarcc  the  dying  coaU  awoke, 
Beneath  the  dew-drop  from  the  oak — 
Caught  by  Monie  leaf  in  silence  there 
And  sent  down  glittering  through  the  air. 
'TwaH  stillness  all,  save  broken  scream 
That  sometimes  burst  from  warrior's  dream, 
As  if  anew  the  battle  raged. 
And  all  hia  dreaming  thoughts  engaged. 

Viewing  the  scene  with  vacant  eye, 

Now  fix'd  on  earth,  now  on  the  sky. 

With  rising  soul,  whose  llight  was  borne 

Far  o'er  the  fate  of  coming  morn, 

And  mix'd  already  with  the  bands 

Of  Erie,  risen  in  happier  lands, — 

In  dreaming  thoughtfulness  I  sunk. 

Half  slumb'ring  'gainst  the  tree's  dark  trunk  ; 

Till  fancy,  mid  the  light  and  shade 

That  underneath  the  foliage  play'd., 


hi  ! 


»»NT>VA. 


81 


Pictured  r  form,  like  virion  bright, 
Nuw  hovcriiiK  iicur,  now  tiir  from  Hight ; 
A»  if  Homc  Hpirit,  nvul  to  bear 
M^  Houl  Hway,  were  waiting  there. 
Nearer  and  nearer  yet  it  drew  : 
Did  fancy  still  deceive  my  view  ? 
The  moon  Ment  forth  a  brighter  beam, 
That  broke  the  uhadowH  of  my  dream  ; — 
'Ti»  she  !  that  beam  her  form  betrays — 
'Twas  fair  Oneyda  met  my  gaze ! 


The  ever  watchful  dog,  that  heard 
Her  near  approach,  a  moment  stirrM, 
A  moment  viewed  her,  as  she  stood 
Like  spirit  lost  amid  the  wood — 
Then  crouch'd  again  with  chiding  whino. 
As  if  awaked  by  moon-beam's  shine. 
With  wary  look,  and  listening  ear 
That  paused  each  trembling  sound  to  hear. 
And  foot  whose  fall  would  scarce  disturb 
The  dew  that  stood  on  leaf  and  herb, 
Through  the  prone  guard  around  that  lay- 
She  made  her  light  and  cautious  way. 
Why  starts  that  warrior  from  his  doze  ? 
'Twas  but  a  restless  dream  of  foes 
U 


i' 


j$t'f. 


8i 


ONTWA. 


'^>       It 


i»' 


\y'Ai' 


i 


That  roused  him  from  his  earthy  bed, 
Where  soon  again  he  bows  his  head  ; 
And  as  the  murm'ring  sounds  subside, 
Oneyda  stands  at  Ontwa's  side. 
Delight  and  wonder  chain'd  my  tongue, 
While  o'er  my  captive  form  she  hung ; 
And  thus,  as  with  a  trembling  hand 
She  loosed  the  osier's  knotty  band, 
And  then,  with  bright  entreating  eye 
And  earnest  gesture,  I  ^.de  me  fly. 
Silent  and  lost  in  gaze  of  love, 
1  felt  nor  wish  nor  power  to  move  : 
She  seized  my  hand,  and  led  the  way, 
Where  prostrate  guard  and  warriors  lay, 
With  scatter'd  darts  and  slacken'd  bow — 
That  told,  the  Erie  race  was  low. 


She  paused  when  deep  within  the  shade  : — 
"  Now  fly,  young  warrior !  fly — "  she  naid  ; 
"  Urge  through  the  dark  thy  rapid  flif^ht. 
Nor  fear  pursuit  till  morning  light : 
My  hand  the  drowsy  drink  prepared, 
Which  luU'd  to  rest  thy  watchful  guard  ; 
Now  low  among  the  crowd  o'erthrown, 
They'll  find  too  late  the  victim  flown. 


if 


'.^*  -^ 


ONTWA. 


83 


Last  of  a  race — now  lost  in  war ! 
Seek  out  some  new  and  brighter  star  : 
And  when  thou  sleep'st  beneath  its  beam, 
Let  far  Oneyda  share  thy  dream." 

Can  Ontwa  paint  her  simple  grace — 
Her  slender  form,  and  lovely  face, 
Which  only  half  its  beauty  show'd, 
So  wildly  loose  her  dark  locks  flow'd — 
The  tear  that  dimm'd  her  glist'ning  eye, 
When  she  would  bid  the  wanderer  fly  ? — 
The  sinking  moon  with  pleased  delay 
Glanced  on  her  charms  a  mellow  ray. 
And  show'd  on  robe  and  features  fair 
The  dew,  and  brighter  tear-drop,  there. — 
Did  Ontwa  then  alone  depart  ? 
Ah !  no.     I  cried,  with  selfish  heart, 
"  Sweet  blossom  of  the  wild  !  thy  hands 
Have  sever'd  Ontwa's  captive  bands, 
But  vainly  dost  thou  set  him  free. 
When  still  his  heart  is  bound  to  thee. 
The  osier  bond  no  longer  holds, 
But  wreath  of  love  has  stronger  folds  : 
Oh,  thou  bright  vision  of  my  sU^ep, 
Ere  Ontwa's  eyes  had  learnt  to  weep — 


84 


ONTWA. 


I    f'l| 


m'] 


?  t 


Thou,  whom  I  thought  a  star  from  heaven, 

Or  spirit  by  the  blue  wave  given, 

When  watching  o'er  thy  morning  rest 

I  placed  the  wild  rose  on  thy  breast — 

Oh  whither,  now,  shall  Ontwa  turn  ? 

His  country's  fires  no  longer  burn  : 

Of  home  and  sire  and  kindred  reft, 

What  has  the  lonely  wanderer  left — 

If  thou,  Oneyda,  scorn  his  love. 

And  send  him  forth  alone  to  rove  ? 

My  death-song  had  been  proudly  sung, 

My  soul  like  nervous  bow  was  strung, 

And  waited  with  impatient  smile 

The  burning  of  the  fatal  pile, 

Whose  morn-enkindling  flames  would  close 

Over  the  last  of  Erie's  woes. 

What  drew  my  spirit  back  to  earth  ? — 

'Twas  form  of  more  than  Indian  birth, 

Such  charms  as  Ontwa  never  knew. 

For  never  such  in  desert  grew. 

Erie's  red  daughters  long  had  sigh'd 

To  melt  this  bosom's  icy  pride. 

But  till  I  saw  Oneyda's  face 

I  never  loved,  but  sportive  chase. 

Then  wilt  thou  forth  the  wanderer  send. 

Bereft  of  home  and  sire  and  friend  ? 


ONTWA. 


85 


When  thou,  Oneyda — wouldst  thou  roam, 
Might  be  hia  friend,  his  sire  and  home." 


"  Too  well,  bold  youth !  thou  know'st  the  art 

To  win  with  flattering  tongue  the  heart, 

And  far  too  willing  thou  hast  found 

My  ear  to  listen  to  the  sound. 

Prize  not  too  high  this  fairer  face, 

Which  owes  its  hues  to  white  man's  race  : 

Learn  that  Oneyda's  mother  came 

From  distant  shores  of  GalUc  name, — 

In  former  wars,  her  home  subdued, 

By  savage  foe  and  death  pursued, 

To  Saranac  she  owed  her  life  ; 

And,  in  return,  became  his  wife. 

Ere  twice  the  forest  bloom  had  fled, 

She  sunk  within  her  narrow  bed — 

Whence  her  lorn  soul  return'd  again 

To  hover  o'er  her  native  plain. 

'Twas  from  her  milk  Oneyda  drew 

The  snows  that  gave  this  brighter  hue. 

'Twas  all  of  Gallia's  race  she  gave  : 

The  rest  was  buried  in  her  grave. — 

But  why  detain  ? — Oh  !  quickly  haste, 

Nor  more  the  precious  moments  waste. 


I) 


ir 


^  1 


y.  T- 


86 


ONTWA. 


Nay — why  delay  ? — 'Tis  all  in  vain  : 
'Tweve  easy  this  weak  heart  to  gain — 
But  soon,  by  Saranac's  command. 
Will  Weywin  claim  Oneyda's  hand  ; 
A  warlike  chief — by  sire  approved, 
Though  never  by  Oneyda  loved  : 
Yet  hadst  not  thou — but  hark !  nethoughl 
My  ear  the  sound  of  tumult  caught! 
It  is  !  they  tind  the  captive  flown! 
Oh,  fly  ; — yet  stay — ah,  yes,  begone 
For  should  Oneyda  share  thy  way, 
'Twould  but  thy  fleeter  step  delay." 

The  tumult  rose. — ♦'  On,  on,"  she  cried, 
"  And  may  my  mother's  spirit  guide." — 
We  darted  forward  through  the  glade. 
And  soon  were  lost  in  distant  shade — 
Where  not  a  sound  came  on  the  wind, 
To  say  pursuit  was  still  behind. 


"  Here,  my  Oneyda,  rest  thy  feet, 
No  eye  will  find  this  far  retreat : 
Here  on  this  bank  shall  thou  repose, 
Shelter'd  from  sun,  secure  from  foes. 
While  o'er  thy  deep  and  weary  sleep. 
Ontwa  shall  watchful  sentry  k&ep." — 


ONTWA. 


On  flowery  btink  fatigued  she  sank, 

Where  hunted  deer  full  often  drank — 

Perhaps,  like  us,  no  longer  fearing 

The  lost  pursuer's  reappearing. 

"  With  thee,  young  warrior!  thee  so  near. 

What  has  Oneyda's  heart  to  fear  ? 

My  infant  ears  could  scarce  rejoice 

When  wont  to  hear  a  mother's  voice  ; 

For  scarce  they  caught  her  note  of  love. 

Ere  her  pure  soul  was  borne  above  : 

But  still,  methinks,  I  never  hung 

On  sweetness  of  a  mother's  tongue, 

With  half  the  rapture  I  incline 

To  catch  the  gentle  sounds  of  thine. 

Oh,  when  I  lived  among  the  crowd, 

Where  hundred  warriors  'round  me  bow'd. 

Now  giving  fruit  ot  hunting  toil. 

And  now  the  nobler  battle-spoil ; 

When  every  morn  my  cabin  door 

Was  hung  with  flowers  and  \erdure  o'er, 

And  bloom  of  spring  and  summer's  sweet 

Were  ofiier'd  at  Oneyda's  feet ; 

My  bosom  never  knew  a  blis^ — 

It  scarce  e'er  dreamt  of  joy — like  this. 

Here  by  this  stii'  and  lonely  stream 

My  soul  shall  wake  its  sweetest  dream, 


iSh 


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lf\ 


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88 


ONTWA. 


And  when  we  rise  to  fly  again 
For  refuge  in  some  distant  plain, 
Oh,  may  Oneyda's  vigour  prove 
Firm  and  unwearied  as  her  love." 

On  bed  of  flowers,  by  Ontwa  made, 

Her  drooping  charms  she  gently  laid  ; 

And  oft  her  slumbers  check'd  to  raise 

A  glance  that  ever  met  my  gaze  ; 

Till  visions  quench'd  their  quivering  light. 

As  clouds  steal  o'er  the  stars  of  night. 

Oh  !  what  a  charm  to  lover's  eye 

Have  beauties  that  in  slumber  lie ! 

When,  all  confiding,  they  are  given 

To  faith,  that's  watch'd  alone  by  Heaven. 

In  trusting  innocence  she  slept, 

While  love  the  sacred  vigil  kept. 


(  ;  •* 


The  trembling  lip  and  heaving  breast 
Oft  spoke  the  fears  that  broke  her  rest ; 
And  oft  she'd  cry,  in  dreaming  fright, 
"  Fly,  Ontwa !  why  delay  our  flight? 
Methinks  'tis  Weywin's  dart  I  see — 
Its  vengeful  barb  is  aim'd  at  thee." —  - 
*'  Sweet  sleeper !  calm  thy  vision's  fear  ; 
Is  not  thy  watchful  warrior  near  ? 


ONTWA. 


89 


The  forest  sleeps  beneath  the  sun, 
The  lonely  waters  calmly  run, 
And  scarce  the  insect  flutters  'round, 
Lest  it  should  wake  thee  with  its  sound. 
Soon  as  thy  broken  slumbers  end. 
Again  our  course  afar  we'll  bend, 
i.aunch  our  light  bark,  and  refuge  take 
In  friendlier  regions  o'er  the  lake. 
There,  where  Ohio's  waters  press 
Their  silent  way  through  wilderness, 
And  echo,  as  they  wind  along, 
Only  the  bird's  or  hunter's  song, 
On  some  lone  border  of  the  wild, 
I'll  shelter  thee,  thou  snowy  child !" 

The  evening  sun,  descending  low. 
His  level  beams  began  to  throw 
Beneath  the  trees,  which  stretch'd  their  shades 
Like  giant  limbs  through  lengthen'd  glades, — 
When,  starting  from  her  flowery  bed, 
Oneyda  wildly  raised  her  head, 
And,  still  half  dreaming,  bt>nt  her  ear 
As  if  she  thought  pursuers  near. 
"  Ah !  no — 'twas  all  a  dream.     But  oh  ! 
Methought  I  saw  fierce  Weywin's  bow 
12 


i 


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III 


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1)0 


ONTWA, 


Aiming  at  thee  its  vengeful  dart : 
It  sped, — but  struck  Oneyda's  heart. 
The  pang  was  dreadful,  but  methought 
I  would  again  the  dart  have  caught. 
Again  severer  pangs  have  braved. 
Were  life  of  Ontwa  to  be  saved. — 
fiut  hark  !  I  hear  a  step  advance  ! — 
'Tis  he  ! — 'Tis  Weywin's  fiery  glance — 
And  bended  bow" — And  to  my  breast, 
With  fatal  haste,  she  frantic  prest, — 
Her  warning  dream,  alas !  too  true, — 
Just  as  the  vengeful  arrow  tiew  1 
Her  warm  blood  o'er  my  bosom  gush'd. 
As  from  her  wound  the  torrent  rush'd, 
While  yet  her  eye,  with  ray  intense, 
Beam'd  forth  its  dying  eloquence  ; 
And  ere  the  smile  had  left  her  cheek. 
Which  still  of  parting  love  would  speak. 
Her  soul  of  snowy  hue  had  flown, — 
And  left  me  in  this  world  alone. 

The  day  went  down  on  Ontwa's  grief. 
He  saw  nor  foeman's  tribe  nor  chief 
Drawn  by  the  signal  whoop  around. 
As  Weywin  gave  the  fatal  wound. — 


m :    1 


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ONTWA. 


01 


The  victor  chief  tore  off  his  plume  : 
His  wailing  tribe  sat  down  in  gloom  : 
But  chief  nor  tribe  could  ever  know 
The  depth  of  Ontwa's  silent  wo. — 
Three  days,  the  murmuring  stream  pursued 
Its  course  along  the  mournful  wood, 
Echoing  the  notes  of  plaintive  song, 
That  told  the  sorrows  of  the  throng — 
When  'neath  a  willow's  drooping  shade, 
Within  her  narrow  house,  was  laid 
The  loved  Oneyda.  * 

•  •  « 

What  now  had  Ontwa  left  on  earth  ? — 

Lonely  he  rose,  and  wander'd  forth. 

His  wand'rings— — but,  of  what  avail, 

To  lengthen  out  my  mournful  tale  ? — 

Led  by  the  love  of  one  dear  name, 

1  sought  the  land  of  white  men's  fame. 

And  Hnger'd  years  about  their  fires 

Where  slept,  methought,  her  mother's  sires. 

The  stranger  world  before  me  rose  ; 

But  gave  no  rest  to  Ontwa's  woos. 

I  sought  the  desert  wild  again  ; 

But  the  rude  scenes  revived  my  pain. 


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ONTWA. 


U  'i 


And  here  my  worn  nnd  wearied  feet 
Have  come  to  seek  their  last  retreat : 
And  here  I  stand — my  wither'd  grief, 
Hanging  hke  dry  and  quivenng  leaf, 
That  waits  from  heaven  but  faintest  breath, 
To  break  it^  hold,  and  smk  in  death.' 


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33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSM 

(7I6)S72-4S03 


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[The  following  Illustrations  of  the  prece- 
ding work  have  been  extracted  from  the  private 
MSS.  cf  Lewis  Cass,  Esq.  Governor  of  the  Ter- 
ritory of  Michigan.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
inform  the  public,  that  he  has  been  for  several 
years,  ex  officio,  the  superintendent  of  numerous 
tribes  of  Indians  ;  or  to  recall  to  mind  his  recent 
extensive  tour  to  the  sources  of  the  Mississippi ; 
in  order  to  give  a  value  and  interest  to  his  ob- 
servations on  aboriginal  subjects.  The  novelty 
and  variety  of  the  facts  these  illustrations  exhibit, 
must  render  them  important  to  the  curious  :  and 
if  they  at  the  same  time  show,  that  the  work  to 
which  they  are  appended — in  the  descriptive  parts 
at  least — has  received  its  impressions  from  reali- 
ties rather  than  from  imagination,  they  may  give 
to  it  a  character  higher  than  that  of  a  mere  work 
of  fiction.] 


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nmmmmmmm^jm 


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ILLUSTRATIONS. 


No—Uwas  a  spirit  mild  and  meek 
That  objects  less  sublime  would  seek : 
I  srught  the  Indian  of  the  wild, 
Nature''s  forlorn  and  roving  child. 

Page  10,  line  15,  &c. 
Early  and  strenuous  efforts  were  made  by  the 
French  to  convert  the  Indians  to  civilization  and 
Christianity.  The  zealous  missionaries  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  religion  carried  the  cross  into  the 
most  remote  regions  which  were  then  known. 
Establishments  for  this  purpose  were  formed  at 
Michilimackintac,  at  L'Arbre  Croche,  at  St.  Jo- 
sephs, at  Green  Bay,  and  at  other  places.  The 
object  was  prosecuted  with  zeal,  industry  and  ta- 
lents, worthy  of  more  permanent  success  than 
has  attended  these  labours.  The  di£^culties,  dan- 
gers and  privations,  which  must  have  accompanied 
this  intense  and  voluntary  devotion  of  their  lives, 
to  the  moral  and  physical  melioration  of  our  ab- 
original inhabitants,  can  be  fully  appreciated  by 
those  only  who  ate  able  to  form  some  estimate 
of  tiie  condition  and  character  of  the  country,  at 
Hhtii  early  period.    There  was  a  generous  self-de- 

13 


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, 


fl  ii 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

votedness  in  these  apostles  of  Loyola,  which  no- 
thing could  have  inspired,  but  the  intensity  of  their 
zeal  and  their  entire  abstraction  from  all  personal 
considerations.  To  suffer  in  a  valued  cause,  and 
when  surrounded  by  those  who  sympathize  with 
the  martyr,  whether  he  be  the  victim  of  religious 
or  of  political  intolerance,  does  not  require  the 
strongest  effort  of  human  resolution.  Cranmer 
and  Russell,  no  doubt,  sought  and  found  consola- 
tion in  the  nature  of  the  causes  for  which  they 
respectively  suffered  and  died.  The  circum- 
stances of  the  times  had  excited  their  feelings  to 
an  elevation  proportioned  to  the  crisis  in  which 
each  of  them  was  placed,  and  their  martyrdom  was 
seen  and  applauded  and  lamented  by  thousands. 
But  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest,  removed  from 
every  trace  of  civilization,  and  surrounded  by 
ruthless  savages,  these  holy  men  had  no  crowds 
of  witnesses,  no  powerful  and  temporary  bursts 
of  enthusiasm,  no  imposing  external  circumstances, 
to  support  them  in  the  hour  of  danger  and  of  death. 
The  authentic  records  of  their  missionary  labours 
show,  that  they  were  subjected  to  every  danger 
and  privation,  which  savage  malignity  could  de- 
vise, or  which  human  resignation  could  endure  ; 
and  many  of  them  were  murdered  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar.  No  traces  of  their  laborious  exertions 
can  now  be  discovered,  in  the  manners  or  morals  of 
the  Indians.  The  hand  of  time  has  swept  away 
the  teacher  and  the  neophyte  ;  and  nothing  now 


leir 
Inal 


)ua 


ler 
)la- 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


99 


remains  to  show,  that  the  standard  of  Christiani- 
ty has  ever  waved  amid  the  dark  forests  of  our 
country. 

The  lessons  of  experience  upon  this  subject  are 
too  important  to  be  disregarded.  In  the  zealous 
efforts,  which  are  now  making,  to  meliorate  the 
condition  of  the  Indians,  we  have  much  to  learn 
from  the  history  of  the  progress  and  result  of  the 
same  experiment,  which  was  made  by  the  Jesuits. 
We  cannot  bring  to  the  task  more  fervid  zeal, 
more  profound  talents,  more  extensive  or  varied 
acquirements,  nor  probably  a  deeper  knowledge 
of  the  principles  of  human  nature.  But,  so  far  as 
respects  any  permanent  or  valuable  impression, 
they  have  wholly  failed.  Very  few  of  the  Indians 
profess  any  attachment  to  the  Christian  religion  ; 
and  of  those  who  make  this  profession,  there  is 
not  probably  one  whose  knowledge  is  not  confined 
to  the  imposing  rites  and  external  ceremonies  of 
the  Catholic  church.  A  more  vivid  impression 
appears  to  have  been  made  upon  the  Wyaudots, 
than  upon  any  others  ;  and  they  preserved,  for  a 
longer  term  than  any  other  tribe,  traces  of  the 
indefatigable  exertions  of  their  spiritual  fathers  : 
But  even  with  them,  superior  as  they  are  in  intel- 
lectual endowments,  and  placed  by  their  local  si- 
tuation in  contact  with  a  Catholic  community,  the 
subject  is  forgotten  ;  or,  if  remembered,  it  is  re- 
membered only  by  a  few  aged  and  decrepid  per- 


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ILLUSTBATIONS. 


sons,  like  other  traditionary  legends  of  their  na- 
tion. 

Fortunately  for  the  cause  of  humanity,  and  for 
the  discharge  of  the  great  moral  debt  which 
we  owe  to  this  miserable  race  of  beings,  deep 
interest  has  lately  been  excited  upon  this  import- 
ant subject.  A  spirit  of  inquiry  has  awakened, 
which  cannot  but  produce  beneficial  results.  The 
obligations  under  which  we  are  placed,  as  an  en- 
lightened and  Christian  community,  to  teach  our 
wretched  neighbours  the  blessings  of  civilization 
and  Christianity,  are  universally  felt  and  acknow- 
ledged. We  have  driven  them  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Mississippi.  Our  forefathers,  who  landed 
upon  this  continent,  found  them  numerous,  high 
spirited,  and  powerful.  They  are  now  few*,  de> 
pressed,  weak,  and  miserable.  For  the  fair  pos- 
sessions which  once  were  theirs,  let  us  give  them 
a  more  precious  inheritance : — a  gradual  partici- 
pation in  those  blessings,  natural  and  intellectual, 
civil  and  relif  ;ious,  which  have  fallen  to  our  lot. 

There  is  reason  to  believe,  that  the  failure  of 
the  Jesuits  m  as  owing  to  the  principles  upon  which 
their  operations  were  conducted,  rather  than  to 
any  intrinsic  tnd  insuperable  difficulties  in  the  ob- 
ject itself.  Ii  is  easy  to  teach  an  Indian  to  com- 
ply with  the  external  forms  of  the  church  ;  and  he 
may  make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  when  he  has  no 
ideas,  practical  or  speculative,  upon  the  moment- 
ous subject  which  alone  gives  importance  to  these 


■WH** 


'U 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


101 


eereraonies.  Any  change,  to  be  permanent,  must 
be  gradual  and  general.  We  must  teach  the  In- 
dians, by  their  own  observations,  the  value  of  our 
institutions.  We  must  induce  them  to  abandon 
their  present  erratic  life,  and  to  establish  them- 
selves permanently.  We  must  convince  them 
that  the  scanty  and  precarious  subsistence,  which 
is  now  furnished  by  the  chase,  will  be  acquired 
with  less  toil  and  more  certainty,  by  the  labour  of 
agriculture.  We  must  teach  them,  above  all,  the 
value  of  separate  and  exclusive  property — the 
cardinal  principle  in  our  own  attempts  upon  this 
subject.  In  fact  their  physical  and  moral  improv  e- 
ment  must  be  contemporaneous :  Each  will  alter- 
nately act  as  cause  and  effect. 

If  this  great  cause  be  placed  in  proper  hands, 
and  prosecuted  with  zeal  and  judgment  propor- 
tioned to  its  importance,  we  may  safely  anticipate 
a  successful  result.  But  it  must  be  the  work  of 
time  and  labour.  It  cannot  be  accomplished  speed- 
ily or  easily.  Inveterate  habits  must  be  eradica- 
ted, strong  prejudices  encountered,  and  the  feel- 
ings and  opinions  of  a  whole  ruce  of  human  beings 
entirely  changed,  before  complete  success  can  at- 
tend our  exertions.  But,  such  a  bloodless  victory 
would  be  more  important  to  the  character  of  our 
country,  than  the  most  sanguinary  battle  which 
stains  the  pages  of  history. 


I 


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102 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


t:  I 


Through  rocky  isles,  whose  bolder  forms 
Still  chafed  and  frittered  down  by  storms,     '■  '• 
And,  worn  to  steeps  of  varying  shape  '" 

That  architectural  orders  ape. 
Show  ruined  column,  arch,  and  niche, 
And  walVa  dilapidated  breach — 

Page  11,  line  1 1,  &c. 
Upon  the  southern  coa^t  of  Lake  Superior,  about 
fifty  miles  from  the  falls  of  St.  Mary's,  are  the  im- 
mense precipitous  cliffs,  called  by  the  voyageurs, 
Le  Portail,  and  the  "  Pictured  rocks.^^  This  name 
has  been  given  to  them,  in  consequence  of  the  dif- 
ferent appearances  which  they  present  to  the  tra- 
veller, as  he  passes  their  base  in  his  canoe.  It 
requires  little  aid  from  the  imagination,  to  discern 
in  them  the  castellated  tower,  the  lofty  dome, 
spires  and  pinnacles,  and  every  sublime,  grotesque, 
or  fantastic  shape,  which  the  genius  of  architect- 
ure has  ever  invented.  These  cliffs  are  an  un- 
broken mass  of  rocks  rising  to  an  elevation  of 
three  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Lake, 
and  stretching  along  the  coast  for  fifteen  miles. 
The  voyageurs  never  pass  this  coast  except  in  the 
most  profound  calm  ;  and  the  Indians,  before  they 
make  the  attempt,  offer  their  accustomed  obla- 
tions, to  propitiate  the  favour  of  their  Manitous. 
The  eye  instinctively  searches  along  this  eternal 
rampart  for  a  single  place  of  security  :  But  the 
search  is  vain.  With  an  impassable  barrier  of 
rock  on  one  side  and  an  interminable  expanse  of 


^"^^l^^l 


^•*'- 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


103 


:i 


I 


1 


WRter  on  the  other,  a  sudden  storm  upon  the  lake 
would  as  inevitably  insure  destruction  to  the  pas- 
senger in  his  frail  canoe,  as  if  he  were  on  the  brink 
of  the  cataract  of  Niagara.  The  rock  itself  is  a 
sandstone,  which  is  disintegrated,  by  the  continued 
action  of  the  water,  with  comparative  facility. 
There  are  no  broken  masses  upon  which  the  eye 
can  rest  and  find  relief.  The  lake  is  so  deep 
that  these  masses,  as  they  are  torn  from  the  pre- 
cipice, are  concealed  beneath  its  waters  until 
they  are  reduced  to  sand.  The  action  of  the 
waves  has  undermined  every  projecting  point ;  and 
there,  the  immense  precipice  rests  upon  arches, 
and  the  foundatioix  is  intersected  by  caverns  ex- 
tending in  every  direction.  When  we  passed  this 
mighty  fabric  of  nature,  the  wind  was  still  and 
the  lake  calm.  But  even  the  slight  motion  of 
the  waves,  which  in  the  most  profound  calm  agi- 
tates these  internal  seas,  swept  through  the  deep 
caverns  with  the  noise  of  distant  thunder,  and 
died,  upon  the  ear,  as  it  .rolled  forward  in  the 
dark  recesses  inaccessible  to  human  observation  : 
no  sound  more  melancholy  or  more  awful  ever 
vibrated  upon  human  nerves.  It  has  left  an  im- 
pression, which  neither  time  nor  distance  can  ever 
efface.  Resting  in  a  frail  bark  canoe  upon  the 
limpid  waters  of  the  lake,  we  seemed  almost  sus- 
pended in  air — so  pellucid  is  the  element  upon 
which  we  floated.  In  gazing  upon  the  towering 
battlements  which  impended  over  us,  and  from 


* 


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I 


V 

I         ; 


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.' 


104 


ILIiUBTRATIONB. 


which  the  tinnnlleAt  fragment  would  have  destroy- 
ed ut,  we  felt,  nnd  felt  intensely,  our  own  insig- 
nifirance.  No  dituation  can  he  imagined,  more 
appalling  to  the  courage,  or  more  humbling  to  the 
pride  of  man.  We  appeared  like  a  umall  ttpeck 
upon  the  face  of  creation.  Our  whole  party, 
Indians  and  voyageurn  and  noldiers  and  officers 
and  savans,  contemplated  in  mute  astonishment 
the  awful  display  of  creative  power,  at  whose  base 
we  hung  :  and  no  sound  broke  upon  the  car,  to  in- 
terrupt the  ceaseless  roaring  of  the  waters. — No 
splendid  cathedral,  no  temple  built  with  human 
hands,  no  pomp  of  worship,  could  ever  impress 
the  spectator  with  such  deep  humility,  and  su 
strong  a  conviction,  of  the  immense  distance  be- 
tween him  and  the  Almighty  Architect. 

The  writer  of  this  article  has  viewed  the  falls  of 
Niagara,  and  the  passage  of  the  Potomac  through 
the  Blue  Ridge,  two  of  the  most  stupendous  ob- 
jects in  the  natural  features  of  our  country  :  The 
impression  they  produce  is  feeble  and  transient, 
when  compared  with  that  of  the  "  Pictured  rocks" 
of  Lake  Superior. 

When  *mid  his  chiefs,  I  saw  my  tire 
Azoake  on  high  the  council  fire. 

Page  26,  lines  17  and  18. 
.  No  important  business  is  ever  transacted  by  the 
Indians,  without  kindling  the  council  fire.     This 
ceremony  preceded  the  arrival  of  the  European 


f  ',.• 


i»  — 


'/.  ^! 


ILI.rHTRATIONA. 


ior> 


upon  (hiH  continent.  It  doiihtleHs  hiul  Uh  origin 
in  the  convenience,  which  wiim  thiia  ntTorded  the 
MMembled  multitude,  for  UKhting  their  pipcii. 
Their  appetite  for  Hmokin^  iH  xtrong  Hnd  invete* 
rnte.  When  thoHc  who  nre  to  participate  in  the 
deliberation!  of  the  council  are  convened,  the 
great  pipe  i§  lighted,  and  the  Htem  in  held  up- 
wards, aa  a  mark  of  adoration  to  the  Great  Spirit. 
AAer  this  ceremony  it  it*  Hmoked  itucceHaively,  in 
the  order  of  rank,  by  all  who  are  present  :  For 
this  purpose  it  is  carried  by  one  of  the  Chiefs  to 
every  individual,  who,  without  taking  hold  of  the 
pipe  with  his  handH,  drawH  two  or  three  pufTi*  of 
the  smoke  :  The  council  is  then  ready  to  invcHti- 
gate  the  businesH,  for  which  it  was  convened.  The 
Indians  have  two  pipes,  which  are  used  upon  so- 
lemn occasions  :  one  is  the  great  peace  pipe,  and 
the  other  the  war  pipe.  They  are  severally 
smoked  under  circumstances  sulKciently  indicated 
by  their  names. 

But  the  words  *'  Council  tire"  are  also  used  by 
the  Indians,  metaphorically,  to  indicate  the  place 
where  their  councils  are  held.  Every  village  has 
its  own  fire,  which  is  kindled  whenever  the  inhabit- 
ants meet  for  deliberation.  But  all  the  different 
tribes,  with  whom  we  are  acquainted,  north  of  the 
Ohio  and  east  of  the  Mississippi,  were  connected  to- 
gether, and  had  a  general  Council  lire  ;  which  was 
kept  by  the  Wyandota  at  the  mouth  of  the  Detroit 
river.    How  long  they  had  enjoyed  tliis  pre-emi- 

14 


t, 


'i 


Hi 

'if 


,   ■^:. 


I 


106 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


W  1 


nence,  is  doubtful.  But  the  right  of  convening 
the  other  tribes  to  the  Council  tire,  was  possessed 
by  this  nation  ;  and  when  application  for  that  pur- 
pose was  made  by  any  of  the  others,  the  Wyan- 
dots  despatched  the  necessary  wampum  and  to- 
bacco— which  are  the  credentials  carried  by  the 
messengers.  Some  of  the  principal  Chiefs  from 
every  quarter  attended  these  councils  ;  and  when 
they  met,  a  Are  was  kindled  by  a  flint  and  steel. 
After  the  council  closed,  this  fire  was  carefully 
extinguished.  All  objects,  affecting  the  Indians 
generally,  were  investigated  and  determined,  upon 
these  occasions.  But  the  late  war,  which  pro- 
duced greater  changes  in  the  feelings  and  customs 
of  the  Indians,  than  the  flfty  years  preceding  had 
mado,  extended  its  effects  to  this  institution.  The 
council,  and  its  members,  and  its  objects,  have  dis- 
appeared, and  the  plough  has  passed  over  the  site 
of  the  sacred  fire. 


Has  filVd  my  dreams  with  deep  alarms — 

Page  27,  hne  6. 
The  Indians  have  great  confidence  in  dreams  : 
They  are  considered  as  the  immediate  manifesta- 
tions of  the  will  of  the  Great  Spirit ;  and  it  is  al- 
most impossible  to  persuade  them  to  disregard  these 
impressions.     The  most  important  expeditions  are 
sometimes  stopped  and  turned  back,  by  a  dream  of 
one  of  the  party.     In  the  year  1778,  a  party  of 
about  one  hundred  Chippewa  warriors,  led  by 


mil 


i. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


107 


a  Chief  named  Wa-be-gon-a,  left  Detroit  upon  a 
war  excursion  against  the  infant  settlements  in 
Kentucky.  During  the  march,  warrior  after  war- 
rior abandoned  the  party,  affected  by  the  dreams 
which  they  had,  or  feigned  to  have  ;  until  the  num- 
ber was  reduced  to  twenty -three.  When  they 
arrived  upon  the  Ohio,  they  struck  a  road  ap- 
parently much  travelled.  They  watched  tins 
road  some  time  ;  but  not  meeting  with  any  success, 
they  returned,  and  proceeded  one  day's  march 
towards  home.  On  the  evening  of  this  day,  a 
British  interpreter  who  was  with  the  party,  re- 
monstrated against  their  return,  and  urged  the 
Chief  to  remain  in  the  country  until  they  could 
strike  the  Americans.  He  dwelt  upon  topics  ob- 
vious to  the  Indians  ;  and  represented  the  disgrace 
which  would  attend  an  unfortunate  expedition. 
The  Chief  finally  consented  to  refer  the  question  to 
a  dream.  He  prepared  himself  for  the  approach- ' 
ing  communication,  and  in  the  morning  stated  that 
the  Great  Spirit  had  appeared  to  him,  and  had  di- 
rected him  to  watch  the  road  again,  until  a  party 
of  the  Americans  should  pass.  The  Indians  re- 
turned with  great  confidence,  stationed  themselves 
upon  the  road,  and  there  remained  until  a  party 
approached — upon  whom  they  tired.  They  took 
two  scalps  and  three  prisoners. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  perceive  that  this  road 
was  daily  travelled,  and  the  Cliief  hazarded  little 
in  advising  his  warriors  to  watch  it.     The  whole 


'  \  I. 


m 


<■., 


>  i  if 


u, 


t'l 

4 


■  i) 

I         f  Ml 


^."V^ 


'if 

1= 


108 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Bi 


plan  was  probably  contrived  between  him  and  the 
interpreter,  to  restore  confidence  to  the  dispirited 
party. 

The  Indians  carry,  in  a  prepared  skin  called 
natte,  certain  objects  of  worship,  known  by  the 
name  of  Manitous.  These  Manitous  are  the  stuff- 
ed skins  of  young  minks,  beavers,  birds,  and 
other  animals.  They  are  preserved  with  great 
care ;  and  the  natte  always  accompanies  the  war 
parties.  It  is  carried  by  the  principal  Chief,  du- 
ring the  march  ;  and  at  night  it  is  hung  upon  a  pole, 
stuck  in  the  ground  on  the  side  towardj  the  ene- 
my. Should  any  person  incautiously  pass  between 
the  natte  and  the  enemy,  the  whole  party  would 
instantly  return,  and  nothing  would  induce  them 
to  advance.  When  the  Chief  is  anxious  to  consult 
the  Great  Spirit,  respecting  the  result  of  the  ex- 
pedition, or  the  fate  of  any  of  his  warriors,  he 
sleeps  with  his  head  in  contact  with  the  natte.  In 
this  situation  his  dreams  are  prophetic. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  minds  of  the  Indians  are 
prepared  for  these  impressions.  Fasting,  watch- 
ing, long  conversations  and  intense  reflection  up- 
on the  subject,  produce  the  very  result  of  which 
they  are  in  pursuit.  They  dream  because  their 
faculties,  intellectual  and  corporeal,  are  in  a  state 
of  excitement  most  favourable  to  such  an  object. 


f 
.s 

i, 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  109 

ril  seek,  amid  the  howling  storm, 
Tlie  Manitou's  appalling  form. 

Page  31,  lines  5  and  6. 
A  full  examination  of  the  superstitious  notions 
and  practices  of  the  Indians,  would  involve  an  ex- 
tensive view  of  their  mythology.  It  is  difficult  to 
procure  accurate  information  upon  the  subject ; 
and  I  think  it  probable  that  their  own  ideas  are 
confused,  and  that  the  boundaries  between  the 
power  of  their  good  and  bad  spirits  are  not  dis- 
tinctly marked.  They  are  desirous,  upon  all  im- 
portant occasions,  of  consulting  the  spirits,  good  or 
bad,  respecting  the  result.  There  is  a  particular 
order  of  men,  called  Wa-be-no,  in  French — jon- 
gleurs, or  (as  they  are  called  in  Knglish  by  the 
Canadians)  thinkers— who  are  the  medium  of  com- 
munication for  this  purpose.  These  Wa-be-no 
formed  a  society,  which  was  perpetuated  by  the 
continued  admission  of  new  members.  But  the 
process  of  initiation  was  tedious,  and  some  time 
elapsed  before  the  candidate  was  admitted  to  a 
full  participation  in  the  benefits  and  knowledge  of 
the  society.  The  Wa-be-no,  of  all  the  tribes,  had 
a  common  bond  of  union,  and  the  principal  mem- 
bers met  annually  near  the  Spring  Wells,  upon 
the  Detroit  river.  At  this  periodical  convoca- 
tion, the  rites  of  their  order  were  celebrated  with 
feasts  and  dancing,  and  the  other  imposing  cere- 
monies which  were  appropriated  to  these  west- 
ern Eleusinian  mysteries.     The  rank  and  influ- 


!    3 


h 


■it 


.  'i 


0^  n 


)  i 


.!* 


110 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


'7 


r.  Mil  [  ^ 

(■ 


it  *■ 


ence  of  the  different  members,  were  determined 
by  their  knowledge  of  these  ceremonies,  and  by 
the  visitations  which  they  felt  or  affected  to  feel. 
It  is  probable  that  fanaticism  and  hypocrisy  had 
each  their  votaries  among  these  "  jongleurs." — 
The  process  preparatory  to  initiation,  was  well  cal- 
culated to  render  them  susceptible  to  the  slightest 
impression.  The  candidate  was  shut  up  in  a  lone- 
some cabin,  and  was  compelled  to  abstain  from  all 
food  and  drink,  for  many  days.  What  is  the  ex- 
treme limit  of  human  strength  and  resolution,  in 
this  state  of  total  abstinence,  I  do  not  know  :  But 
there  is  an  old  Chippewa,  now  living,  who  is  said 
to  have  been  thus  incarcerated  for  nine  days.  It 
is  not  difficult  to  conceive,  that  this  discipline 
would  prepare  the  youthful  mind  for  strong  and 
permanent  impressions,  and  for  a  sublimation  of 
the  imagination,  which  might  lead  him  to  mistake 
ihe  reveries  of  his  own  excited  fancy,  for  the  re- 
velations of  an  invisible  being.  It  is  probable 
that  the  initiatory  ceremonies  fortiiied  these  im- 
pressions. And  it  is  certain  that  this  order  of  men 
acquired  a  preponderating  influence  over  the 
minds  of  the  Indians — An  influence,  too,  which 
was  extended  to  the  traders  and  voyageurs,  with 
whom  they  formerly  had  intercourse. 

I  am  unwilling  to  recount  the  stories  that  are 
told  upon  this  subject ;  the  marvellous  nature  of 
which  prove  equally  the  dexterity  of  the  actors, 
and  the  credulity  of  the  spectators.     Onr  earlier 


'f 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Ill 


k 


writers  upon  Indian  manners  detail  with  great  sim- 
plicity these  evidences  of  a  communication  with 
evil  spirits  ;  and  1  have  heard  aged  and  respecta- 
ble Canadians  relate  facts  which  they  supposed 
occurred  before  their  own  eyes,  not  less  incon- 
sistent with  the  ordinary  operations  of  nature,  than 
with  the  powers  of  a  superintending  Providence. 
These  Wa-be-no  are  not  only  priests  and   pro- 
phets, but  physicians.     In  September,  1819,  du- 
ring the  treaty  at  Saginaw,  Kish-ka-kon,  the  prin- 
cipal Chief  of  the  Chippewas,  was  taken  sick  : 
He  was  offered  medicine  and  the  attendance  of  our 
physK  i  in,  but  having  no  confidence  in  either,  he 
declined  the  offer.     He  sent  for  one  of  these  men 
to  effect  a  cure,  and  1  saw  him  soon  after  the  ope- 
ration.    He  was  afflicted  with  a  chronic  rheuma- 
tism, and  complained  much  of  a  violent  pain  in  his 
side :   He  told  me,  however,  that  the  Wa-be-no 
had  extracted  a  part  of  the  disorder,  and  that 
there  was  no  doubt  of  a  perfect  cure.     It  appear- 
ed that  the  operator,  after  many  unmeai  ing  cere- 
monies, had  applied  a  hollow  bone  to  the  affected 
part,  by  means  of  which  he  pretended  to  suck  out 
the  disorder.     He  possessed  the  power  of  regur- 
gitating a  small  portion  of  the  contents  of  the  sto- 
mach, and  this  he  discharged  from  his  mouth  into 
a  vessel.     His  credulous  patient  believed  that  it 
was  extracted  from  the  seat  of  the  disorder. 

One  of  these  men  was  sent  by  a  respectable 
Canadian  to  a  gentleman  in  Detroit,  who  was  dan- 


V.:  ^ 


f 


'I:. 


>,     U 


'^\ 


> 

tr 

(  ] 


{^ 


i 


1 

4 


-JTT' 


112 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


t  , 


[rff,     f; 


'■^i    ' 


.( 


Il  ^ 


t      I 


gerously  affected  by  an  imposthutne  in  his  thigh. 
This  man  undertook  the  same  process  ;  but,  hav> 
ing  around  him  more  acute  observers  than  he  had 
before  known,  his  whole  operation  was  easily 
detected.  One  of  his  feats,  which  excited  the 
greatest  wonder  among  the  Indians,  was  thrusting 
into  his  throat  a  stick  twenty-three  inches  long. 
— Kish-ka-kon  was  firmly  persuaded,  that  some 
enemy  had,  as  they  express  it,  thrown  medicine 
at  him — that  is,  had,  by  means  of  the  Wa-be-no, 
induced  the  evil  spirit  to  afflict  him.  This  is  a 
very  prevailing  superstitious  notion  among  the  In- 
dians. When  they  are  sick,  or  any  accident  hap- 
pens to  them,  or  Ihey  are  unable  to  kill  an  abun- 
dant supply  of  game,  this  is  the  ready  solution  of 
the  difficulty. 

A  few  months  since,  an  Indian  applied  to  me  for 
some  whiskey.  I  inquired  of  him  for  what  pur- 
pose he  wanted  it.  He  answered,  that  four  years 
before,  some  person  had  thrown  medicine  at  him, 
and  that  he  had  not  been  able,  since  that  time,  to 
kill  any  game.  He  wanted  the  whiskey  to  make  a 
feast,  the  sovereign  panacea  for  Indian  misfor- 
tunes, and  thus  to  be  enabled  to  resume  kis  em- 
ployment as  a  hunter. 

The  Indians  apply,  under  different  circumstan- 
ces, to  the  good  and  the  bad  spirit ;  and  the  cere> 
monies  in  these  different  cases,  are  entirely  dis- 
similar. My  information  does  not  enable  me  to 
state  with  precision,  what  circumstances  deter- 


n 


'■J^ 


r 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


113 


mine,  to  whom  the  application  shall  be  made. 
Generally,  however,  in  all  important  questions 
affecting  the  tribe,  and  in  all  cases  where  super- 
natural assistance  is  required,  the  application  is 
made  to  the  good  spirit.  Where  the  object  is  to 
ascertain  a  future  event,  or  to  discover  any  thing 
<¥hich  is  lost,  the  inquirer  is  sent  to  the  evil  spi- 
rit. The  same  class  of  men  are  employed  in 
each  case  ;  but  no  present  must  be  made  when  the 
good  spirit  is  consulted.  Being  desirous  of  see- 
ing the  mode  in  which  these  tricks  are  executed, 
I  requested  one  of  the  Wa-be-no  to  permit  me  to 
be  present  at  the  ceremony.  He  assented  to  my 
request — and  was  directed  to  ascertain  the  situation 
of  some  article  accidentally  lost.  This  farce  was 
necessary,  as  he  peremptorily  refused  to  consult 
the  evil  spirit,  unless  some  question  were  pro- 
posed for  solution.  Six  stout  poles  were  tirmly 
placed  in  the  ground  in  a  hexagonal  form.  These 
poles  were  ten  feet  in  height,  and  the  diameter  of 
the  enclosure  was,  perhaps,  four  feet.  Round 
these  poles,  on  the  outside,  a  number  of  blankets 
were  stretched,  and  securely  fastened.  These 
blankets  entirely  intercepted  the  view  ;  and  after 
the  Wa-be-no  had  crawled  in,  the  place  of  his  en- 
trance was  shut  and  he  was  concealed  from  obser- 
vation. The  ceremony  took  place  at  night,  and 
it  thus  became  impossible  to  observe,  with  any 
accuracy,  the  progress  of  the  imposture. 

Immediately  on  his  entrance,  the  poles  were  vio- 

15 


'\ 


\\ 


it 


!/  \i 


!      ! 

i 


il 


J 


^  \ 


t 


114 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1 


t'S       i 


}}' 


I-    I 


r    i 


lently  agitated,  and  he  began  a  monotonous  recita- 
tion, which  I  understood  to  be  an  invocation  to  the 
evil  spirit  to  make  his  appearance.  Afler  some 
time  the  agitation  increased,  and  we  were  inform- 
ed that  the  evil  spirit  was  about  to  appear.  Pro- 
found silence  was  observed  by  the  surrounding 
spectators,  and  another  voice  was  heard  from  the 
lodge.  It  was  then  obvious,  that  the  object  of 
the  Wa-be-no  was,  to  induce  his  auditory  to  be- 
lieve the  evil  spirit  was  conversing  with  him. 
For  this  purpose  he  changed  as  much  as  possible 
the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  spoke  at  one  time  close  to 
the  ground,  and  at  another,  at  the  greiitest  height 
to  which  he  could  attain.  The  deception  was  so 
gross,  and  the  whole  ceremony  so  tedious  and  un- 
interesting, that  I  retired  without  waiting  for  the 
termination. 

When  the  good  spirit  is  consulted,  a  feast  is 
given,  and  a  dog  sacrificed.  This  dog  is  hoisted  to 
the  top  of  a  long  painted  pole,  and  left  in  this  situa- 
tion. The  Wa-be-no  then  retires  to  "  think"  sit- 
ting down  with  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  his  el- 
bows resting  upon  his  knees.  In  this  situation,  the 
answer  of  the  good  spirit  is  communicated  to  him. 

JirisBy  to  war — with  fellest  whoop. 

Page  30,  line  18. 
That  peculiar  modulation  of  voice,  which  con- 
stitutes the  "  whoop"  of  the  Indians,  has  long 
been  known.     It  is  impossible  to  give  any  ade- 


ILLUSTHATIUN8. 


Uu 


quale  idea  of  thin  sound,  by  a  written  description. 
It  is  shrill  iind  piercing,  and  there  is  a  striking  ele- 
vation of  the  voice  at  the  termination  of  each  cry. 

The  Indians  have  at  least  four  ditferent  kinds 
of  whoops,  the  object  of  three  of  which  is  to 
communicate  intelligence  to  their  villages,  as  the 
warriors  approach  on  their  return  from  any  ex- 
pedition, without  the  trouble  of  an  immediate  ex- 
planation. These  whoops  are  all  different,  and 
are  perfectly  understood  ;  and  they  convey  the  de- 
sired information,  with  as  much  precision  as  one 
of  our  gazettes. 

I  The  whoop  of  joy  is  uttered  by  the  warriors 
who  return  from  a  triumphant  expedition,  and  in- 
dicates the  number  of  scalps  and  prisoners  they 
have  taken.  There  is  a  peculiar  inflection  of  it, 
by  which  the  prisoners  are  distinguished  from  the 
scalps.  The  death-whoop  designates  the  number 
of  friends  who  have  been  killed  during  the  expe- 
dition. The  whoop  of  intelligence  is  uttered  by 
a  messenger,  or  other  person,  who  has  any  thing 
important  to  communicate  ;  and  it  is  used  to  col- 
lect those  who  are  within  hearing,  to  receive  the 
information.  .'■,,,■ 

The  war-whoop  is  designed  to  strike  their  ene- 
mies with  terror,  and  to  inspire  their  friends  with 
confidence,  at  the  onset  of  a  battle.  In  the  silence 
of  the  night  and  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest,  this 
terrific  sound  is  appalling. 

When  a  party  of  warriors  approaches  a  friendly 


'     S 


« 


:ri 


.1 


i 


s- 


'    'i: 


»l 


116 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


I' 


> 


villnge,  they  give  three  distinct  whoops,  either  of 
joy  or  grief,  m  their  nituation  may  require,  to 
prepare  the  inhahitants  for  attention.  After  a 
short  pause,  they  give  as  many  separate  whooptt 
as  there  are  individuals,  at  whose  fate  they  rejoice 
or  mourn. 

At  the  treaty  of  St.  Mary*s,  in  1818,  a  small 
party  of  Shawanese  returned  from  a  war  excur- 
sion against  the  Osages,  with  a  number  of  scalps. 
Before  they  reached  the  treaty  ground,  they  an- 
nounced their  success  by  the  whoops  of  joy,  and 
the  effect  was  electric  upon  the  Indians.  The 
vast  multitude,  who  were  present,  rushed  out  to 
meet  the  returning  warriors.  The  object  ap- 
peared to  be  to  seixe  the  scalps,  which  were 
borne  on  poles,  from  those  who  carried  them,  and 
to  hasten  with  them  to  their  camps.  I  do  not 
know  whether  any  peculiar  distinction  was  attach- 
ed to  the  successful  individuals  in  this  strife,  but 
certainly  more  exertions  could  not  have  been  used, 
nor  more  zeal  exhibited,  had  the  object  been  to  at- 
tack their  enemies.  Old  and  young  joined  the 
throng,  and  the  scalps  were  snatched  from  hand  to 
hand,  and  changed  owners  many  times,  before  they 
reached  their  destination. 

Whose  lengthened  trench  and  mound  enseam 
The  banks  of  many  a  winding  stream — 

Page  32,  lines  16  and  16. 
The  remains  of  ancient  art,  which  are  scatter- 
ed through  the  western  regions,  have  been  the 


V! 


^tS. 


'•^.K.i  ,4,i.*i 


h^,ti.  Li'Jrt  ^".  J-*,,. 


ILLUSTRATION!). 


117 


niihjcct  of  observation  Hiiice  onr  tir^t  knowledge 
of  the  country.  It  ih  doubtful  whether  much  real 
progresH  hat*  been  made  in  the  inveHtigii'iun  of 
this  intereMting  inquiry.  When,  >*>  whom,  tind 
why,  these  monumcntH  of  human  industry  were 
erected — are  questions  which,  perhiips,  will  never 
be  satisfactorily  solved.  The  facts  in  our  pos- 
session are  not  sulficiently  numerous,  to  enable  us 
to  form  even  »  plausible  conjecture  upon  the  sub> 
ject. — Their  extent  and  variety,  instead  of  aiding, 
bewilder  us.  The  labour  of  their  erection  is  as 
much  beyond  the  power  of  the  present  race  of 
Indians,  as  the  works  themselves  are  unsuited  to 
any  purposes  to  which  they  could  apply  them. 
Their  construction  must  have  required  a  degree 
of  skill  in  the  plan,  and  of  indefatigable  industry 
in  the  execution,  equally  incompatible  with  the 
intellectual  acquirements  and  present  habits  of  the 
Indians. 

These  works  are  scattered  through  the  whole 
valley  of  the  Ohio,  and  through  much  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi country.  They  are  found  as  iiir  north, 
at  least,  as  Lake  Pepin.  They  are  not  confined 
to  any  particular  situation.  We  tind  them  on  hills 
and  in  valleys  ;  in  positions  favourable  to  military 
defence,  and  in  others,  where  they  are  complete- 
ly commanded  by  elevated  ground,  and  where  de- 
fence would  be  impracticable. 

A  supply  of  water  has  not  been  deemed  an  in- 
dispensable requisite.  Between  Detroit  and  Chi- 
cago, in  the  midst  of  an  immense  plain,  and  re- 


1     % 


I 


^^ 


ii 


71 '- 


_.._^^.,jiy 


HI 


1L.LUATHATI0M. 


mote  from  any  Htreiim,  one  of  tliewe  workti  yet  re- 
miiiiis.  There  tire  othci-H  Hiiiiihniy  Hituated,  with 
regard  to  water;  and  upon  the  MiixkinKum  there 
are  Mome  on  the  moHt  arid  and  elevated  hilU. 

They  are  found  in  every  ntate  of  preservation, 
and  decay.  In  Home,  the  walU  are  at  least  tifteen 
feet  high,  particularly  near  Newark  and  Lebanon, in 
Ohio ;  and  the  whole  work  m  att  distinct  aH  it  waH 
upon  the  day  of  itt4  completion.  OtherH  have  al- 
moiit  mouldered  away,  and  it  is  difficult  to  diHtin* 
guish  them  from  natural  inequalities  of  ground. 
Some  of  them  have  ditches,  and  some  are  without ; 
and  these  ditches  are  as  often  found  on  the  inside 
as  on  the  outside  of  the  walls.  There  is  an  ele- 
vated mound  in  Marietta,  enclosed  with  a  wall,  and 
having  a  ditch  between  the  wall  and  the  mound. 
It  is  impossible  that  this  wall  and  ditch  could  have 
been  made  for  any  purposes  of  defence,  because 
the  elevation  of  the  mound,  which  occupies  the 
whole  interior  space,  would  have  exposed  those 
within  to  the  attack  of  the  assailants.  Their  form 
is  as  various  as  their  situation.  They  'ire  square, 
round,  elliptical,  hexagonal,  and  in  almost  every 
shape  which  fancy  can  imagine. 

Their  existence  is  a  wonder,  to  which  there  is 
nothing  comparable  in  our  country.  To  account 
for  their  original  erection,  we  are  driven  to  conjec- 
ture, either  that  another  race  of  men,  superior  in 
every  social  and  intellectual  quality  to  our  pre- 
sent Indians,  once  inhabited  these  regions,  and 


V^^ 


•^'^r 


ILLUSTRATIUNH. 


lit 


f     1 


were  wholly  extirpated  or  expoUed  ;  or  that  the 
deKcendHnts  of  thin  people  have  furKOtten  the 
mo!tt  useful  art*  of  life,  and  ')Hve  loHt  all  remem- 
brance of  their  own  origin,  with  all  the  tradition* 
uf  their  anceston. 

Mr.  AtwHter.  of  Circleville,  in  Ohio,  has  evinced 
a  laudable  zeal  to  collect  all  the  facts  upon  this 
subject,  which  now  remain.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  his  exertions  will  not  be  fruitless  ;  but  that 
he  will  be  aided  by  all,  who  are  competent  to 
prosecute  the  investixation.  The  time  is  ra- 
pidly pasiting  away  when  plans  and  elevations  of 
these  places  can  be  taken.  They  will  soon  dis- 
appear before  (I  e  plough  and  the  other  changes* 
of  civilization,  anu  we  shall  regret,  when  too  late, 
that  no  extensive  information  has  been  collected, 
from  which  some  rational  induction  can  be  drawn 
respecting  these  evidences  of  ancient  industry 
which  yet  withstand  the  shock  of  time. 

I  have  been  credibly  informed,  that  among  the 
ancient  belts  preserved  by  the  Wyandots  are 
some,  which  relate  to  the  people  who  erected 
these  works,  and  to  the  history  of  their  wars  and 
final  discomfiture.  It  is  customary  among  the  In- 
dians to  prepare  a  belt  for  every  important  fact, 
interesting  to  the  nation.  These  belts  are  pre- 
served with  great  care  among  the  public  archives, 
and  are,  in  fact,  the  records  of  their  history. 
The  traditions  are  transmitted  with  great  minute- 
ness, and  the  belts  are  not  only  evidences  of  the 


'f 

!■; 

;  .  } 


0i 


H 


([| 


t'^ 


I  s 


] 


*^^ 


120 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


fact,  but,  by  the  powers  of  association,  aid  the 
memory  of  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  preserve 
them.  If  these  belts  relate  to  those  remote 
events,  they  were  undoubtedly  made  at  the  time 
when  the  events  occurred  ;  and  may  be  consider- 
ed iis  authentic  documents,  coeval  with  the  found- 
ation of  these  works.  The  tradition  is,  that  they 
were  built  for  the  purpose  of  defence  ;  and  that 
their  founders,  after  many  years  of  sanguinary 
warfare,  were  expelled,  and  sought  refuge  in  the 
country  southwest  of  the  Mississippi.  The  pre- 
sent race  of  Indians  claim  to  be  the  descendants 
of  the  conquerors. 

Lest  thou  shouldstfail  the  feast  to  share , 
Our  gathering  bands  will  soon  prepare — 
Page  36,  lines  5  and  6. 
A  feast  generally  concludes  every  important 
ceremony  in  which  the   Indians  engage.     Their 
war  and  hunting  excursions,  their  councils,  their 
funerals  and  marriages,  are  all  accompanied  by 
the  appropriate  feast.     Some  of  these  feasts  are 
given  by  individuals,   who  generally  invite   the 
whole  village.     Others  are  at  the  common  ex- 
pense, and  all  who  participate,  bring  some  part  of 
the  provisions. 

When  a  man  gives  an  entertainment  of  this  na- 
ture, it  is  expected  that  his  guest  will  eat  all  the 
provisions  which  are  placed  before  him.  Fortu- 
nately for  the  preservation  of  this  rule,  there  pro- 


'■.»i 


I 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


131 


bably  never  was  a  race  of  men  better  qualified  for 
the  observance  of  such  a  custom.  Their  appetite 
is  voracious,  and  their  powers  of  eating  beyond 
any  example  known  among  civilized  nations. 

I  saw  a  feast  among  the  Sioux,  upon  the  Mis* 
sissippi,  from  which  the  guests  retired  backwards, 
carrying  with  them  their  dishes  filled  with  victuals. 
— I  could  not  learn  the  meaning  of  this  ceremony. 

For  stern  composure,  full  of  thought. 
Had  to  his  mien  submission  taught. 
And  bliss  or  wo  passed  o^er  his  mint/, 
,Yor  light  nor  shadow  left  behind. 

Page  57,  line  15,  &c. 
The  indiffprCijce  of  the  Indians  to  external  cir- 
cumstances, is  a  prominent  trait  in  their  character. 
This  indifference  is  habitually  acquired,  and  is 
similar  in  its  effects  to  the  stoical  fortitude  of  an- 
tiquity.  It  is  not  alone  in  pain  and  grief,  that  any 
display  of  their  feelings  is  suppressed.  The  gen- 
tler affections  of  the  heart,  although  powerfully 
felt,  are  yet  carefully  concealed.  When  an  Indian 
returns,  after  considerable  absence,  to  his  family, 
he  affects  to  be  cold  and  careless,  and  he  suffers 
much  time  to  elapse  before  he  enters  into  familiar 
conversation.  I  have  seen  intimate  friends,  after 
a  long  separation,  meet  and  pass  each  other  like 
strangers.  They  have  none  of  the  courtesies  of 
life  ;  nor  do  they  affect,  by  a  cordial  salutation,  an 
attachment  which  they  do  not  feel. 

16 


I    ^M 


V 

I* 

i 
} 


^ 


122 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


This  abstraction  from  the  effect  of  external  cir- 
cumstances, accompanies  them  in  every  situation  of 
life.  An  Indian  bears  pain  with  fortitude,  he  faces 
danger  without  fear,  and  meets  death  with  calm- 
ness. His  character  and  importance  depend  not 
only  on  active  courage,  but  also  on  this  patient  re- 
signation to  adverse  circumstances,  and  this  calm 
contempt  of  untoward  events.  That  man  has  ob- 
served human  nature  with  a  careless  eye,  who  ha« 
not  discovered,  how  much  more  rare  the  latter 
quality  is,  than  the  former. 

Now  gathers  round  the  warlike  throng, 
Prepared  for  feast  and  dance  and  song. 

Page  68,  Unes  7  and  8. 

When  circumstances  have  inclined  the  minds  of 
the  Indians  to  war,  a  Council  is  convened,  in  which 
the  subject  is  fully  investigated,  and  finally  deter- 
mined. Afler  the  war  is  declared,  the  authori- 
ty of  the  village  or  peace  Chiefs  entirely  ceases, 
and  the  power  is  transferred  to  the  war  Chiefs. 

Their  government,  if  government  it  maybe  call- 
ed, is  one  of  opinion  only.  No  direct  authority  is 
ever  exerted  ;  and  their  war  expeditions  are  com- 
posed of  volunteers,  who  join  and  leave  the  party 
at  their  pleasure.  When  it  is  determined  to  under- 
take an  expedition,  all  the  warriors  are  assembled, 
and  a  feast  is  prepared.  The  principal  Chief  then 
takes  his  tomahawk,  or  war  club,  upon  which  the 
head  of  an  enemy  is  sculptured,  and  begins  to 


i"«|. 


'»',**V4.JttJ(l*L-,V--"^^»^i,.^''.*  • 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


123 


to 


move.  Sometimes,  however,  a  war  belt,  made  for 
this  purpose,  is  carried.  The  tomahawk,  or  club, 
is  held  in  a  threatening  position,  and  the  Chief 
slowly  passes  in  front  of  every  individual,  singing, 
as  he  moves,  his  war  song.  This  war  song  is  not 
the  usual  boasting  recapitulation  of  their  exploits, 
which  is  occasionally  made  by  the  warriors  in  their 
dances — and  which  is  a  mere  recitation,  without 
any  attempt  at  harmony.  The  words  of  the  song 
are  strictly  adapted  to  the  music.  The  sentiment, 
in  all  the  songs,  is  a  mere  repetition  of  a  few  lead- 
ing ideas,  and  is  constantly  renewed  in  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Chief — who  marches  to  the  time  of 
his  own  music. 

The  following  specimens  will  convey  to  the 
reader  a  general  notion  of  these  songs.  (They 
were  actually  sung  upon  important  occasions.) 
♦'  I  will  kill— I  will  kill— the  Big  Knives,  1  will  kill." 
"  Ne-gau-ne-saw — ne-gau-ne-saw — Kichi-mau-le- 
sa,  ne-gau-ne-saw." 

The  Indian  words  in  this  song  are  Miami. 

"  1  will  go  and  get  my  friends — I  will  go  and  get' 
my  friends.  I  am  anxious  to  see  my  enemies — I 
am  anxious  to  see  my  enemies.  A  clear  sky  is 
my  friend,  and  it  is  him  I  am  seeking." 

'  A  clear  sky'  is  a  metaphorical  expression,  and 
conveys  to  an  Indian  the  same  ideas  which  are 
conveyed  to  us  by  the  words,  good  fortune. 

The  manner  in  which  these  words  are  sung  can- 


if  ' 


* 


^1-  y. 


H 


}h 


I 


<■■  4 


124 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


11 

'  ■* 

i 
1 


not  be  described  to  the  reader.  There  is  a  strong 
expiration  of  the  breath  at  the  commencement  of 
each  sentence,  and  a  sudden  elevation  of  the  voice 
at  the  termination.  The  Chief,  as  he  passes,  looks 
every  person  sternly  in  the  face  :  Those  who 
are  disposed  to  join  the  expedition,  exclaim  Yeh, 
Yeh,  Yeh,  with  a  powerful  tone  of  voice  ;  and  this 
exclamation  is  continually  repeated  during  the 
whole  ceremony.  It  is,  if  I  may  so  speak,  the 
evidence  of  their  enlistment.  Those  who  are  si- 
lent, decline  the  invitation. 

After  the  Chief  has  procured  as  many  volunteers 
as  possible,  he  delivers  the  tomahafvk  to  another 
Chief.  The  latter  then  repeats  the  same  process. 
Particular  prejudices  or  partialities  may  induce 
the  warriors  to  follow  one  Chief  in  preference  to 
another ;  and  efforts  are  therefore  made  by  all,  to 
increase  the  strength  of  the  party.  The  whole 
ceremony  is  terminated  by  a  general  feast. 

In  the  year  1776,  during  the  administration  of 
Lieutenant  Governor  Hamilton  at  Detroit,  a  large 
number  of  Indian  warriors  were  assembled,  in  or- 
der  that  they  might  be  induced  to  co-operate  with 
the  British  in  the  war,  which  had  then  commenced. 
They  were  drawn  up  in  two  lines,  extending  from 
the  river  to  the  woods :  their  kettles  and  (ires 
were  between  the  lines.  An  ox  was  killed,  and  his 
head  cut  off :  a  large  tomahawk  was  then  struck 
into  the  head,  and  thus  loaded,  it  was  presented  to 


"T" 


'^T'Vi 


^1 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


125 


the  Governor :  He  was  requested  to  sing  his  war 
song  along  the  whole  line  of  the  Indians. 

The  ox's  head  represented  the  head  of  an  Ameri- 
can ;  and  as  the  British  were  the  principals  in  the 
war,  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  take  up  the  to- 
mahawk iirst.  The  Lieutenant  Governor  was 
embarrassed  by  the  novelty  of  his  situation,  and 
by  his  own  ignorance  of  the  language  and  songs  of 
the  Indians.  He  was  extricated,  in  a  manner 
equally  happy  and  ludicrous,  by  his  Interpreter. 
The  latter  instructed  his  superior  to  sing  the  fol- 
lowing words,  in  French : 

Quand  j'irai  a  la  guerre-ruh 
J'emporterai  ma  grand  cuillere-ruh. 

The  monosyllable  at  the  end  of  each  line,  is 
only  intended  to  mark  the  elevation  of  the  voice, 
and  the  prolongation  of  the  last  syllable. 

These  words  corresponded  with  the  necessary 
tune,  and  were  sung  with  all  the  gravity  and  dig- 
nity suited  to  the  occasion.  As  the  Lieutenant 
Governor  passed  the  immense  assemblage,  he 
sung  his  song  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  Indians, 
who  made  the  air  resound  with  their  cries  of  Yeh, 
Yeh,  Yeh.  They  concluded,  of  course,  that  the 
great  warrior  was  threatening  with  dreadful  ven- 
geance, the  Big  Knives,  the  rebellious  children  of 
their  British  father. 

The  second  officer  in  command,  Major  Hayes, 
was  relieved  by  a  similar  expedient.  The  inge- 
nious Interpreter  composed  the  following  song, 


H' 


,    i 


*  ; 


l\ 


126 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


f", 


which  possessed  the  same  advantage  of  an  aC' 
companiment  to  the  music. 

J'ai  le  taiuii,  au  bout  du  pied. 

The  ordinary  war  dance  is  pecuharly  appropri- 
ate at  the  departure  of  the  warriors  upon  any  ex- 
pedition, or  upon  their  return  :  but  it  is  used  at 
all  times,  by  the  young  men,  as  an  exercise  and 
amusement.  When  they  are  disposed  to  under- 
take this  dance,  they  strip  themselves  almost  na- 
ked, and  paint  their  faces  and  bodies  agreeably  to 
the  taste  of  every  individual.  It  is  probable  that 
this  custom  had  its  origin  in  a  desire  to  strike 
terror  into  their  enemies,  by  the  horrible  alter- 
nations of  light  and  shade,  with  which  they  are 
daubed.  The  imagination  cannot  draw  a  strong- 
er picture  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  infernal  re- 
gions, than  is  presented  by  these  dances.  Every 
person  holds  in  his  hands  a  weapon ;  and  their 
heads  are  adorned  with  a  great  display  of  feathers 
and  other  appropriate  ornaments.  Hollow  cylin- 
ders of  wood,  resembling  drums— covered  with 
dressed  skin  at  one  end,  are  beat  for  the  purpose 
of  marking  time. 

Their  mode  of  dancing  is,  by  continually  jump- 
ing up  and  down,  sometimes  in  the  same  place, 
and  sometimes  advancing.  Their  muscular  exer- 
tion, upon  these  occasions,  is  great :  Every  limb, 
and  almost  every  muscle,  are  in  action ;  and  the 
whole  frame  is  in  a  continued  state  of  tension. 
They  keep  time  with  perfect  precision,  and  no 


■' 


vv^SpB.-A 


1 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


127 


eye  can  detect  the  slightest  variation.  They 
brandish  their  weapons  in  every  direction  ;  and  I 
have  been  often  surprised  that  accidents  do  not 
occur,  on  such  occasions.  Knives  and  toma- 
hawks are  aimed  with  apparently  fatal  precision  ; 
but  are  turned  with  great  dexterity,  before  they 
inflict  the  threatened  wound.  Every  warrior  con- 
tinually repeats  the  well  known  sound  Yeh,  in  the 
most  forcible  manner. 

After  they  have  danced  some  time — one  of  them 
steps  to  a  post,  previously  secured  in  the  ground 
for  this  purpose,  and  violently  strikes  it  with  his 
weapon.  Instantly  the  music,  and  the  exclama- 
tions, and  the  dancing,  cease  ;  and  every  warrior 
is  prepared  to  hear  a  tale  of"  daring."  The  per- 
son who  has  struck,  then  recounts  his  exploits. 
He  speaks  with  great  emphasis  and  violent  gesti- 
culation,— describes  the  number  of  the  enemy 
whom  he  has  killed ;  the  mode  in  which  he  ac- 
complished it,  and  the  dangers  he  encountered. 
He  relates  the  most  minute  circumstances,  and 
shows  the  manner  in  which  he  crept  silently  upon 
his  enemy,  and  took  aim  at  his  heart.  He  exhi- 
bits his  scars,  and  relates  the  occasions  upon 
which  he  received  them. 

After  he  has  concluded,  all  the  Indians  present 
give  a  general  shout,  to  testify  their  admiration  of 
his  prowess.  The  dance  then  recommences,  and 
is  again  interrupted  in  a  similar  manner. 


f 


y\ 


128 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


i 


V 


T%c  star  of  day  was  just  descending — 

•  Page  72,  line  1. 

The  hostile  attacks  of  the  Indians  are  almost 
always  made  in  the  night ;  and  generally  a  short 
time  before  day.  They  are  not  as  vigilant  and 
watchful  in  defence,  as  they  are  in  attack.  No- 
thing can  exceed  the  caution  and  silence  with 
which  they  move,  and  they  frequently  enter  their 
enemy's  camp  before  the  latter  is  apprized  of 
their  approach.  The  melancholy  catastrophe, 
which  closed  the  campaign  of  General  St.  Clair, 
in  1791,  is  matter  of  historic  record.  About  day- 
light he  was  attacked  by  the  Indians  ;  and  after  a 
feeble  and  desultory  resistance,  his  army  was  dis- 
persed or  destroyed.  General  Harrison  narrow- 
ly escaped  the  same  fate  at  Tippecano;  and  he 
owed  his  success  to  his  own  skill  and  experience, 
and  to  the  valour  and  discipline  of  his  troops. 

The  effect  of  this  mode  of  attack  upon  men 
suddenly  awakened  from  profound  sleep,  may 
be  readily  appreciated.  The  stillness  and  soli- 
tude of  the  night  are  interrupted  by  the  Indian 
war'-whoop — one  of  the  shrillest  and  most  terrific 
sounds  that  can  be  imagined :  at  the  instant  of 
uttering  this  horrible  yell,  which  is  well  calcula- 
ted to  dismay  their  enemy,  the  assailants  com- 
mence their  attack  ;  and  this  sound  is  heard  above 
the  ordinary  accompaniments  of  the  battle. 

When  we  review  the  peculiar  adaptation  of 
their  tactics  to  the  description  of  their  forces, 


■  .i 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


129 


nnd  to  the  nature  of  their  warfare,  it  is  certainty 
surprising  tliat  their  campaijajntit  have  not  generally 
terminated  more  succesNfully.  To  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  theatre  of  operation)*,  they  join 
ceaseless  caution,  great  personal  intrepidity,  a 
power  of  enduring  the  extremes  of  fatigue  and 
hunger,  which  rarely  fall  to  our  lot,  and  all 
those  "  circumstances  of  war,"  which  are  calcu- 
lated to  inspire  <hem  with  confidence,  and  to  de- 
press the  spirit  of  their  enemies.  But  they  have 
no  combination  in  their  movements  :  their  at- 
tacks are,  in  fact,  the  eflforlH  of  individuals :  and 
the  authority  of  their  Chiefs  is  feeble  and  use- 
less. That  result  of  discipline  and  bubordinntion, 
which  renders  every  combatant  an  effective  part 
of  one  great  machine,  is  wholly  unknown  to  them, 
— ai.d  their  operations  are  thus  without  concert  in 
the  plan,  and  without  union  in  the  execution. 

•      And  tinged  the  pile  with  glomny  light,  • 
Which  stood  before  the  captive's  sight. 

Page  77,  lines  17  and  18. 
-,'.       And  thus,  amid  the  insulting  throng, 

Raised  high  and  bold  his  victim  song.   .  ". 
11,  t    '  Page  78,  lines  9  and  10. 

The  custom  of  sacrificing  prisoners  by  the  In- 
dians to  their  own  baleful  passions,  is  well  known  ; 
and  the  instances  of  this  shocking  ceremony  are 
numerous  and  authentic.  A  small  proportion  of 
the  captives,  however,  are  thus  murdered  :  Many 
of  them  are  adopted  into  different  families,  to 

17 


( 


*'     I 


130 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


supply  the  logs  of  deceased  relatives,  nnd  nre 
treated,  in  every  respect,  like  the  natural  mem- 
bers of  the  family. — But  when  an  important  Chief 
is  killed,  or  when  the  surviving  relatives  of  a  war- 
rior who  has  fuUen  in  battle  are  anxious  to  re- 
venge his  death,  an  unfortunate  captive  is  select- 
ed for  this  sacrifice.  (    .r  . 

These  devoted  victims  of  savage  cruelty  are 
usually  burned  at  the  stake.  Among  the  Miamis, 
a  hoop  is  passed  round  the  neck,  and  fastened  to 
a  cord,  which  is  tied  to  another  hoop  connected 
with  a  post.  This  post  is  firmly  secured  in  the 
ground ;  and  the  limbs  of  the  unfortunate  sufferer 
are  free.  Fires  are  kindled  on  four  sides  of  the 
post — and  the  Indians,  with  lighted  hickory  bark, 
compel  the  wretched  being  to  move  round  this 
infernal  apparatus  of  cruelty  and  death.  Houra 
are  thus  spent  in  this  scene  of  torment,  until  hu- 
man nature  sinks  exhausted  ;  or  until  some  Indian, 
more  humane,  or  more  strongly  excited  than  the 
others  by  the  keen  and  boastful  death-song  of  the 
sufferer,  terminates  by  a  sudden  stroke,  hij  suf- 
ferings and  their  persecutions.  Among  the  Kick- 
apoos,  a  frame  is  built,  to  which  the  captive  is  at- 
tached by  his  hands  and  feet ;  and  he  thus  slowly 
perishes  without  the  power  of  motion. 

Examples  of  the  most  heroic  fortitude  have 
been  exhibited  under  these  awful  circumstances. 
The  Indians  appear  to  be  prepared  to  suffer  pain 
with  indifference,  as  well  as  to  inflict  it  without 
mercy.    In  whatever  situation  they  may  be  placed, 


i'i 


ILLUSTHATlUNtt. 


181 


whether  as  pereecutoni  or  as  suflferen,  their 
spirit  is  excited  to  the  highest  point  of  elevation. 
It  is  the  object  of  the  one  party  to  torment  with 
the  greatest  ingenuity,  and  to  protract,  to  the  last 
hour,  the  death  of  the  victim.  The  other  sings 
his  death-song,  and  exhibits  his  contempt  for  his 
enemies  by  every  reproachful  epithet,  and  by 
every  provoking  tale :  He  recounts  the  number 
of  their  warriors  whom  he  has  killed  in  battle  ;  of 
their  women  and  children  whom  he  has  murder- 
ed ;  and  of  the  injuries,  insults,  and  cruelties,  he 
has  inflicted  upon  their  nation.  His  song  is  com- 
monly interrupted  by  the  tomahawk  of  some  in- 
dignant foe. 

In  the  year  1774,  a  war  party  of  the  Kicka- 
poos  made  an  irruption  into  the  country  of  the 
southern  Indians.  A  prisoner  was  taken,  and 
sentenced  to  be  burned.  The  sentence  was  exe- 
cuted on  the  Vermilion  river ;  and  I  have  been 
told,  by  a  person  present,  that  a  more  striking  ex- 
ample of  fortitude,  and  of  elevated  feelings,  can- 
not be  imagined.  He  appeared  wholly  abstract- 
ed from  all  corporeal  sufferings.  And  though  the 
pain  must  have  been  intense  and  exquisite,  <*  jm 
the  fierce  zeal  displayed  by  his  enemies  to  con- 
quer his  proud  spirit,  yet  not  a  word,  look,  nor 
motion,  evinced  the  slightest  regard  to  his  own  si- 
tuation. I  cannot  persuade  myself  to  give  the 
details,  of  this  horrible  contest  between  the  power 
to  inflict  and  the  capacity  to  suffer.  The  captive 
sung  his  death-song  in  the  loudest  and    fiercest 


< 


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IvSir 


I  ill 


I3i 


ILLDBTKATIONS. 


Htriiin,  uml  reprntpdly  gave  the  tvhoup  of  joy, 
whicJi  is  L>\i  limivuly  ii|tpi'0|)i'iutud  tu  Ihu  conqiier- 
iiiK  Wid't-ior.  llix  rcMuliitiuii  tinully  triiiiiipluui ; 
for  one  of  his  uiiuinicH,  iVaittic  with  puHsiuii,  shot 
him  through  the  heart.       uu    i^  -  ,:.  !  -^'l:  .u>i>  > 

During  our  rt'vohitioriary  war,  a  fatlier  and  Mon 
were  taken  prinonerM  by  the  MiainiH,  in  Home 
]iart  of  Kentucky.  The  father  was)  advanced  in 
yearH,  and  tlie  son  on  the  verge  of  manhood. 
The  latter  wtw  burned  at  MaKHininneway.  VV  heu 
the  sentence  wuh  communicated  to  tlie  untbrtunate 
captives,  the  fither  entreated  that  he  might  die 
for  hiH  Hon  :  But  hin  reipiest  was  refui>ed,  and  the 
interesting  young  man  bore  the  torments  of  his 
enemies  more  than  three  hours,  in  the  prcHeuce 
of  his  father.     #*##*#        „,».i.    ..  , 

Thanks  to  the  knowledge  of  our  feelings  and 
institutions,  which  the  Indians  have  acquired,  this 
horrible  custom  has  nearly  disappeared.  Their 
own  manners  have  become  meliorated  by  their 
contact  with  us.  During  the  late  war,  instances 
of  savage  cruelty  were  frequent  and  atrocious ; 
and  the  awful  catastrophe  at  the  Hivcr  Kaisin,  in 
which,  however,  to  the  disgrace  of  Christianity 
and  civilization,  the  guilt  does  not  attach  to  them 
only,  has  long  since  been  disclosed  to  our  country 
and  to  the  world.  Hut  I  have  not  heard  that  any 
prisoners  were  burned  ;  nor  were  they  often 
murdered,  after  the  passions  excited  by  the  bat- 
tle had  time  to  subside.  Connected  with  these 
barbarous  sacritices,  a  singular  and  shocking  in- 


■it- 


r 

I 


ILLU8TIIATI0NS. 


133 


fltittition  existed  nmoiiK  the  MiiiiniH  nnd  Kickii|iooii, 
to  wlii(-t)  no  pariillel  nin  he  toiinti  amonj^  the 
other  (I'llicH,  iior,  |)erh>i|m,  in  the  whoht  record 
of  human  (lepravit^.  A  Hocifty  existed,  railed 
"  the  man-cHterH/'  whoMe  duty  it  wiih  tu  eat  niiy 
priHoners,  devoted  to  this  horrible  purpose  by 
those  who  captured  them.  This  society  wn»  co* 
eval  with  the  earliest  traditions  of  either  tribe  ; 
and  the  institution  was  associated  with  reli^iouH 
sentiments,  and  with  feelings  of  reverence  in  the 
muids  of  the  Indians.  Its  members  belon^ed  to 
one  family,  called  *'  the  bear,"  which,  however, 
includetl  many  individuals.  They  were  admitted 
into  the  society  by  a  socret  and  solemn  initiation, 
and  with  many  imposing  ceremonies.  This  right, 
or  duty,  for  I  cannot  ascertain  in  which  light  the 
admission  was  viewed,  extended  to  males  and  fe- 
males ;  and  the  whole  number,  at  the  period  to 
which  my  information  rel.ites,  was  about  twenty. 
But  I  am  ignorant  ivhether  there  was  any  limita- 
tion of  number,  except  by  the  exclusion  of  indi- 
viduals from  the  sacred  family. 

On  ordinary  occasions,  when  a  prisoner  is  sa- 
crihced,  it  is  done  to  gratify  the  revenge  of  the 
near  relations  of  a  fallen  wan'ior :  Put  when 
these  relatives  are  strongly  excited,  either  in  con- 
sequence of  the  natural  strength  of  their  passions, 
or  of  a  peculiar  attachment  to  the  deceased,  or  of 
any  uncommon  circumstances  attending  his  death, 
the  prisoner  is  then  sentenced  to  a  specific  death 
and  to  be  delivered  to  the  "  Man-eaters."     They 


I 


134 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


take  possession  of  him,  and  execute  him  in  con- 
formity with  the  sentence.  After  being  delivered 
to  them,  there  is  no  power  to  ransom  him :  His 
fate  is  irreversibly  fixed. 

In  the  year  1780,  an  American  captive  was  sa- 
crificed at  Fort  Wayne.  There  were  ten  men 
and  three  women,  members  of  the  society,  pre- 
sent, who  conducted  the  ceremony.  An  effort  was 
made  by  the  traders  to  save  the  life  of  the  victim  : 
Goods  to  a  considerable  value  were  offered  for 
this  purpose,  but  in  vain.  At  the  commencement 
of  the  preparations,  another  messenger  was  sent 
with  a  quantity  of  spirits,  the  most  valuable  arti- 
cle, which  could  be  offered  to  effect  the  object. 
He  barely  escaped  with  his  life  from  the  fury  of 
the  society,  who  were  thus  interrupted  in  their 
duties  by  unwelcome  importunities  ;  and  the  spirits 
were  instantly  spilt  upon  the  ground.  After  the 
prisoner  was  dead,  his  body  was  carried  to  a  re- 
tired camp,  cut  up,  and  boiled.  It  was  then  eaten 
by  the  members  of  the  society.  The  cooking 
utensils,  and  other  articles  used  upon  these  occa- 
sions, were  kept  in  a  small  separate  lodge,  and 
were  never  used  for  any  other  purpose. 

One  of  the  members  of  this  society,  called 
"  White  Skin,"  an  influential  Miami  Chief,  is  yet 
living.  But  the  institution  itself  has  disappeared  ; 
and  such  is  the  change  in  the  feelings  of  the  In- 
dians upon  these  subjects,  that  he  is  sometimes 
reproached  with  this  connexion,  formerly  so  much 
venerated  and  respected.     It  has  been  stated  that 


g 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


135 


the  celebrated  Chief,  Little  Turtle,  was  active  in 
the  abolition  of  this  horrible  practice.  Such  an 
exertion  was  in  unison  with  his  character  and 
principles. 

There  is  no  doubt,  however,  but  that  the  gene- 
ral feelings  of  the  age  are  gradually  making  their 
way  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  Indians,  and  that 
these  feeUngs  have  principally  contributed  to  this 
happy  result.  Cannibals  have  doubtless  existed 
in  certain  ages  and  nations  of  the  world  :  And 
although  the  details  of  the  practice  are  involved 
in  some  obscurity,  yet  the  leading  facts  are  indis- 
putable. But,  probably,  no  particular  body  of  men 
was  ever  before  set  apart  for  this  purpose,  and 
required  to  devour  a  miserable  being,  in  order  that 
the  revenge  of  bereaved  friends  might  be  more 
exemplary.  It  is  an  atrocious  refinement  of  ven- 
geance, to  which  the  history  of  the  world  may  be 
challenged  for  a  parallel. 

It  may  be  regretted  that  there  are  no  tradition- 
ary accounts  of  the  institution  of  this  society.  We 
are  utterly  at  a  loss  to  conjecture  how  it  was  esta- 
blished, why,  and  by  whom.  But  its  history  is  lost 
in  the  lapse  of  ages,  and  all  that  is  left  for  us  is, 
while  we  explore  the  facts  which  now  remain,  to 
rejoice  at  the  gradual  melioration  which  is  taking 
place  in  the  manners  and  feelings  of  the  Indians. 


[Since  the  foregoing  memorandum  of  the  Man- 
eating  society  was  made,  the  following  more  mi- 


136 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


nute  particulars  have  been  received  from  the  pre* 
sent  principal  Chief  of  the  Miamis. 
'  The  general  name  of  the  family,  to  which  the 
society  is  exclusively  contined — the  name  which 
it  has  always  borne — is  Ons-e-won-sa.  The  word 
has  no  precise  or  known  meaning.  The  name  of 
the  present  head  of  the  family  is  Am-co-me-we- 
au-kee,  or  the  Man-eater  ;  whose  fiimily,  in  all  its 
branches,  now  consists  of  fifteen  or  twenty  mem- 
bers. The  succession  is  continued  in  the  male 
line  ;  and  the  eldest  male  living  is  always  the  head. 
There  is  no  ceremony  of  initiation  :  no  extrane- 
ous members  can  be  admitted :  the  members  are 
born  into  the  society,  and  have  no  choice  but  to 
inherit  its  atrocious  privileges.  When  a  victim 
is  selected,  his  face  is  painted  black  ;  and,  after  he 
has  been  given  up  to  the  society,  his  fate  is  ir- 
revocable. New  utensils  must  be  provided  for 
every  new  sacrifice.  Every  member  of  the  so- 
ciety is  bound  in  duty  to  partake  of  the  horrible 
repast, — infants  and  all  ;  but,  although  public, 
no  other  person  dares  profane  the  sanguinary  ce- 
remony. During,  or  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
feast,  the  head  repeats,  for  the  instruction  of  the 
younger  members,  its  tradition  and  its  duties. — ^ 
The  Chief  above  alluded  to,  says,  that  the  society 
is  now  seldom  mentioned,  and  a  disuse  of  its  prac- 
tices for  more  than  thirty  years,  has  obliterated  al- 
most every  thing  connected  with  it,  excepting  its 
name  and  its  members.]    '    ->  nw  f^^  -: 


